The True Face of Insanity
by SwedishEmperorThe1
Summary: He thought that he was the toughest. He thought that he was the meanest. He thought that he was the baddest. Little did he know that the baddest bad guy...is the good guy who finally had snapped. (Negaduck vs Darkwarrior Duck)
1. The Beginning

He was running.

He was running for his dear life from the force which wanted it to die.

He didn't knew how long he had ran. He was tired and almost out of energy, and he wanted to rest but he couldn't because he knew that if he stopped for just one minute, that...thing who hunted him would catch up to him and probably do things to him that frightened even him to the very deepest parts of his black heart. Thats why he continued to run, ran as fast as he ever had done in his entire dishonest, crime-filled, violent life. He couldn't stop - not now, not ever - if he loved his life. It wasn't his own twisted, sick mind that forced him to run. No, it was the basic survival instincts that every living creature have which forced him to run, pumped his blood with whatever adrenaline they could find to keep him going. But if his own free will was allowed to choose...he probably would run as well, because however how much as he wanted to blast that freak into afterlife and then bomb his pretty little body into atoms, he knew that the freak was no longer playing games anymore and most likely would literally beat the ever-loving feathers out of him and then break his neck without hesitation or flickering.

He remember how it all started, that how things started out as normal. He was out, tried to become the public enemy number one by robbing, stealing, creating superweapons, destroying some worthless monument, etc, etc. When one day he heard some rumors. Rumors that said his arch-enemy had become more of a sorry-butt excuse of a hero than he already was: an apathetic depressive who had stopped caring about stopping the villains' rampages. They said that his dumb pilot had to drag his butt to the frontlines and then he would try to encourage him to fight the villains, either by strong words or physical contact, but he would just ignore him and everything else that happened around him.

The Waterguy was the one who first witnessed it. He told him and the plantdude that he was right in the middle of a good-old fashined night bankrobbering when his arch-enemy and his dumb pilot tried to stop him. The keyword was "tried". What he could remember from what the waterguy told him, the pilot tried to encourage his arch-enemy to use his gas-gun to take him down, but he didn't used it. His arch-enemy supposedly looked as if his own mother had been pushed right out of a cliff, and then had slammed right to her death below: completely dull, sad and uncaring. Almost like one of those soldiers with the thousand-yard stare returning from the war, (which pictures always made him feel something on him...rise up.) The waterguy told that he didn't even reacted when he washed him up with a mini-flood. At first, both he and the plantguy didn't put much thought of it. As entertaining as it was to hear about his arch-enemy in such a sorry state, he and mr. treelover thought that he simply had a bad day and that he would be an all over-dramatic, theatrical, egocentral idiot once again the next day.

But it turned out it was more than that. Soon every crook in St. Canard claimed he was in that state every time, completly apathetic and less than excited about his job. And he remained looking like if his whole family had been gunned down in front of his eyes. They said he never responsed to their taunts or attacks. They could even beat him up sometimes and he still wouldn't react, he would just remain dull about everything that happened to him or around him. The pilot or the cops were usually the ones who were forced to save his wretched life from being taken. This unsurprisingly inspired a new, bigger wave of crimes. Accordering to the news, the crime rate rosed up to 30% higher, and even with that fact his arch-enemy remained apathetic and depressed.

Soon it wasn't just in the underground world that it became aware of his arch-enemy's sorry-butt state. The newchannels were overflowed with rapports of crimescenes there the criminals had escaped or got away with their crimes because his arch-enemy spent more time mopping around than rather to do his job as St. Canard's little cute savior. The journalists soon however spent less time rapported the crimes, and more time discussed or "debated" his arch-enemy new personality. They all had their own ideals: some of them tried to defend him or made up excuses why he didn't acted like he used to, but most of them complained on him on why he didn't do anything to stop the rising crime wave. Ironic since they all had earlier complained on how he should stop being a "kid-scaring night crawler" and let the police do the hero-stuff. That usually made him laugh since the police of St. Canard was everything but competent.

Anyway, at first he thought that all this hype must be of ridiculous levels. It was no way his arch-enemy could be _that _pathetic. As a pathetic do-gooder as he was, he still was an alternative version of him, which meant that he wouldn't let all those crooks and journalists push him around like that, no less act like a cry-baby who was too retarded to actually cry or whine. This must be a bad joke or something he believed but he wanted to see it himself if it was true about what was told about his arch-enemy, so he planned the most baddest plan he could think of: blackmail the city of St. Canard to pay him 10 million dollar or he would blow up the city hall, and the mayor with it. That was a crime his arch-enemy _should_ react to, even in his rumored depression.

Now, back then, he had actually never seen his arch-enemy Eeyore-style, since he was...busy with some stuff while the rest were out having fun. It would be interesting to see if what all the crooks, the journalists, the witnesses and his "buddies" had said were actually true. So he kidnapped the mayor, beat up the guards who tried to stop him, went to the city hall, planted some bombs everywhere inside it, held those people who were inside at that time hostage alongside with the mayor, videotaped his demand, sent the tape to the biggest newschannel of St. Canard through his bazooka and waited.

It didn't took long before his actions and demand appeared on the TV he pulled from hammerspace, and he could also see that the journalists, the police and a large crowd of curious bystanders flocked around the city hall. The police tried to negotiate with him through a megaphone, the journalists stood in the front of the building and reported to the cameras, the bystanders outside prayed, cried or whatever they usually do, and his hostages pleeded to him to free them and the mayor cried that he would pay him the money if he just let him go. He ignored all that though. The money-demand was just a rush to sniff out his appearently now literally sad opponent. As he had continued to watch the news, the studio personals had asked who will stop him. The police was too incompetent and his arch-enemy was too depressed to stop him they said. But hold and behold he came, right through the door, strangly enough without the blue gas entry or some lousy, bad written one-liners he usually came with. Seeing his arch-enemy was quite a surprise: he did looked like a sad dog, so sad that he would laugh at him if he wasn't so surprised. His stupid partner attempted to encourage him to fight him and free the hostages, but he just stood there, looked completely hopeless and despairing, stared at nothingless and ignored his patner's and the hostages' pleeds. He remembered that he first just stared at him in surprise and didn't knew how he should react. He looked so pitiful, he really did. More pitiful than anyone could be, and he was sure that if he wasn't so psychopathic he would probably feel pity for him, if not empathy, for seeing him in that way.

The keyword was "if". After had stared at him for some seconds, he immediately started to laugh and hurl insults and taunts at him, hoped for some fun reaction. He remained unresponsive, guess the guys' words were true. As how much he loved to insult him as much he could, he was also slighty disturbed on why he didn't reacted. After all, it was his alternative "cousin" or something so he should at least come with _some_ comeback. He didn't mind it though. It was afterall his arch-enemy in a big moment of weakness, and he wouldn't let it go to waste so after he hurled the worst insults he could think of he attacked him. As his arch-enemy remained still, his dumb partner tried to fight him instead. Fortunatly, he was clumsy in fighting as he was in piloting so he had no problems swipping him away. After he knocked him at a wall unconcious, he immediately attacked his arch-enemy. It was so easy: his arch-enemy didn't fought back at all, not even lifted his arms for protection. He just took the punishment without defending himself, despite it hurted him big. It hurted him physically, he knew it did, but emotionally it didn't seemed to differ. No crying, no yelling, no begging, no insulting, no angry words, not even a cry for his partner's help, just...dullness, as if he just beat up a regular punching bag. His eyes had no life in them, and he was sure if it weren't for the grunts that came out of his arch-enemy's beak, he may had punched and kicked an already dead corpse. Amusing as it was to beat him that day, his lack of self-preservation was yet weird and disturbing, since he knew how, as disgusting as it was for him to admit it, tough that duck actually was.

After several minutes of endless beating, his arch-enemy was on the floor, bloodied and bruised. It was so satisfying to see him lying there, crushed as the bug he was. Sure it was sad, but he didn't care. All he cared about was the feeling of accomplishment, the feeling of justice that had being paid on the one who had been a pain in his butt of all his plans he had came up with.

He didn't had the time to enjoy his victory for too long though. As he went to the window to check out the outside, he saw that the police brought out the SWAT-team. Huh, appearently they had dropped the idiot ball for once and showed some rare moment of competence that day and was ready to break in. He had to escape fast so he blew the roof with the same bazooka to create a huge escape hole of it.

After the explosion, the cops didn't waited for the order to be said and stormed the building right on. He had then waited for them to come, so that he could blow some gas at their faces to confuse them while he would make his escape, and it worked. The explosion caused them to become so reckless that they hadn't thrown in some flashbang before going in. He aimed his arch-enemy's gas gun at them before they could aim their guns and pulled the trigger. The gas was all over their faces, confused them about what just happened.

While they woundered around and screamed what just had happened, he made his escape through the roofhole. Fortunately for him, no sniper teams were around the city hall so he made through it as whole. Why there weren't no sniper teams to support the SWAT-team he didn't knew but the most logically explanation must be that the city was too cheap to buy some sniper rifles. Unfortunately for the SWAT-pretty boys, he had activated the bombs right before he blew up that ugly piece of roof.

As he landed on the roof top of one of the tall buildings near the city hall, he watched what happened down there, hoped for some big explosion to lighten up that day even further. However, the hostages were being taken out by the police once they got their hold together. One by one they took them out, and the last ones were the mayor, the barly-concious pilot and the broken shell of his arch-enemy. They all got out of the building right before it exploded.

Smoke and stuff were everywhere but it quickly went down. As he had watched down, he saw that apparently no one had died. Shameful it was, that and the fact that he didn't get the money, but on the bright side he got to enjoy some awesome fireworks and he had beaten, trashed, smashed and humiliated his enemy in front of St. Canard (or just in front of some people but everyone could see the result down there at that day). The last thing he saw before he went home was the paramedics quickly pulled his arch-enemy in an ambulance. He never forgot the shocked looks everyone had when they saw the broken, bleeding half-dead body of his pitiful arch-enemy. It were both pity and sympathy in their eyes. Even those citizens who had been most vocal about the demand for his arch-enemy's "retairement" couldn't help but look on him with open mouth and shocked and, probably, tearful eyes for his pain and depression. Real sad, pathetic really. It was something seriously wrong with that duck that day. Something serious must had happened to him before that pleasant event took place, because it was no way he could be such a loser even if his own grandma got her head blown up. He was the kind of duck who could take the hardships of life and yet struggle on, no matter how tough they were. He could endure such stuff he knew because if he couldn't he would propably had stopped with his crimefighting days years ago...so some #½$* must had happened to him that not even he could cope with. Anyway he left the place by jumped down to his bike, rode back to the bakery and went home through the dimension-tunnel, laughed the whole way of that satifiying day.

But if he knew that was just the calm before the storm, the nice preview before the harsh destruction, the beautiful sunset before the merciless storm, the pleasant ride on the beautiful river before the meeting with the wrath of the waterfall, the peaceful days before the all-consuming, all-destroying, destructive, massmurdering war to end all wars...he would had not laugh that day because that was just the beginning of something terrible that would come.


	2. The Rise of Anarchy and Chaos

The event was in everyones' mouths and minds days after it happened. It was the only thing people could spoke of. The "innocent" people of St. Canard were in a deep shock. They just couldn't understand why his arch-enemy allowed him to beat him up like that. Why didn't he defended himself and stopped him as he always did before, they asked. Why was he in such a deep depression and what caused him to be so depressed in the first place they asked too. They weren't just shocked, but afraid as well. As much they critized him and said he was just an annoyance to the city, they all knew deep down that his arch-enemy was the only one who kept the city in some form of order and could lock down the criminals, so when he let even the infamous "Scourge of St. Canard" (the nickname he had been given by the media for his badness, a nickname he felt honored to had) to get away with his crimes such as these it didn't came as a surprise that people of St. Canard got more frightened than ususal.

For the scumbags of St. Canard it was a different story. Sure they also asked what just had happened to his arch-enemy and why he let himself got pushed around like that at that day, but mostly they just saw this as an opportunity. Yes, crime had rosed with 30 % when the rumors were heard but that was just a small part of the criminal underworld. But after that incident, it was officially clear what a sorry-butt broken shell his arch-enemy had become. After all, if he let his own arch-enemy, the public enemy #2 (a status he hated to had back then), to beat him up like a broken record and get away with it, then sure he wouldn't try to stop the rest of them to go out on _real_ rampages through the city.

The crime statistics rosed with 150 % and real crimes infected the streets of St. Canard like a plague: assaults, kidnappings, car bombings, shootouts, home invasions, drive-by shootings, rapes, murders, you name it. Every crime that could be thought out were made, and every law in the book were broken. Even he was doing some fun with his chainsaw and all. As a bonus; the gangs, the mobs and the supervillain organizations fought for turf, money and influence. The streets were filled with dead bodies, destroyed buildings and drugs and those who used them. The sistuation made even Los Angeles look like an utopia. Not even the kids were spared. They were so many of them who got kidnapped for demands of money, "touched" and "hugged" by sick weirdos, ended up near the wrong car or being on the wrong place of the wrong time during in a shootdown. It was the golden age of crime.

It soon became the golden age of the weaponary and security industries as well. As things got badder, people started to buy things they thought would protect them. Almost every man bought a gun and they refused to go out to even buy food from the stores without it. Alarms were in every house, in almost every rooms. Some people even wore bulletproof-wests when they went out. The people of St. Canard adopted a kind of siege mentality as he had heard it's called: every stranger was a criminal just waiting to stab you and take your wallet. Those kind of thoughts caused many people to kill other people who weren't even criminals, but just another do-gooder who happened to look at them in their way. The bookstores were emptied of survivalist literatures, and some of the citizens even barricaded their houses, stockpilled them with supplies and they all slept fondeling with shotguns. Even the mayor had a gun with him ever since he was kidnapped. At that point, they had given up on their "hero" and everything of life but survive the new harsher world. The faith of the police was the same as zero. The police was too incompetent, cowardly and corrupt, and those officers who did tried to stop the criminals were killed in drive-by shootings by gangsmembers, stomped to death by supervillains or assassinated by their own who were on the mafia's payroll.

He participated in the turf wars. With his arch-enemy out of the game, and the police that was either dead or corrupt, he saw this sistuation as an opportunity to expand his empire without some do-gooder try to hinder him. Of course he had to deal with the other crooks and they were nothing like that do-gooder: unlike him they weren't afraid to take lives to win, even his. He re-recruited the waterdog and mr treehugger for his agenda, but no matter how much he searched he couldn't find that insane Joker-wannabe clown or that electric rat with a ligth bulb fetish anywhere. Why they had disappeared he didn't knew but oh well, they were expendable anyway, and their minds and loyalty weren't exactly of the highest quality too, though he could had some use of their powers in the war. He did also considered to take his allies from his home-universe to this one as help, but that would give his pathetic enemies back home a chance to re-conquer his St. Canard from him so that idea was scrapped.

At first, his genius mind and his minions' powers helped him conquer a good part of the darned city. Every competitor that went in his way were showed no mercy. It didn't matter if they were cops, mooks or other supervillains, they were slaughtered on battlefield like the bugs they were who tried to stand in his way. If civilians were in the line as well than too bad for them. He didn't cared if they got killed, they were too weak anyway if they refused to handle the so-called "problems" themselves and held out for their precious hero because they were too lazy or too cowardly to deal with it themselves. Thought when some of those people bought more weapons and tried to actually fix the "problems" themselves, he ended up fighting with some of them as well but since they were just do-gooders with weak guns, killing them was as easy as breaking a dove's neck.

But as the war prolonged, he realized that many of the other gangs and organizations started to unite against their common enemy i.e. him. Apparently, his sheer ruthlessness and sadism were a pain in their butts so they decided to put aside their differences until they would get his life. Not that he would let them take it of course so he and his minions fought even harder for the control of the city and for his life, pulled like three plots a day, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. Three guys against a whole city of murderers, gangsters, cops and desperate and scared do-gooders; you don't have to be Einstein to know the ods. But they did survived for quite a long time against those ods but they were losing the war. As tough and powerful they were, in the end it's the one with superior numbers who wins. One block after another, one warehouse after the other, building by building they lost. With guns, RPGs and flamethrowers they came in, given him and his minions some pretty nasty wounds and once he even nearly got a bullet in his head. He started to lose everything he had fought for. Those freaking Goodfellas-wannabe punks, they thought they could just do that to the most powerful villain of St. Canard. Ungrateful bastards, they should thank him and bow down to him, he was afterall the one who made it possible for them to claim back their power and influence they had lost to that freaking sorry "hero" excuse of a duck. They thought they could just come in and take everything from him! Just like that! Now when he had beaten the ever-living feathers of his arch-enemy and got him out of the way, and those punks thought they could just come in and force him out! Hell no! With his last drops of blood he would strangle them all with his bare hands and tear of their guts off in front of their eyes! It was just shame they were too many to do so in an one go. He had to take them off one by one, which was slow and took time but that was the only thing he could do. An all-out war was not in his favor, he had painfully realized that. He realized that he had to change his main strategy so he became a "sneaker". At first he hated to sneak up on his enemies and take them out in that way reather than go all-out but after some time he learned to love it. It was actually more satifing to see one loser's eyes up close before he died than seeing a whole bunch of guys gunned down to death and you don't even see their fearful, begging eyes. It was like a rush, a big rush to see them upclose. He didn't knew why but something about it made him feel more satified about a job well done. Why didn't he do something like that before he asked himself. All this time and all those rampages and all he had to do was to sneak up to someone in the night and kill them from behind to feel the highest ultimate kicks from commiting a crime.

With time he became a better "sneaker" and his enemies' casualties began to rise again. He even became so good that he could sneak stealthy into his enemies' compounds or headquarties and kill their leaders in their sleep without alarming the guards, and then sneak out unharmed and undetected. When their bosses and the highest ranked members began to die one by one too, the mindless herd of so-called "gangsters" started to scatter like sheeps. It made them easier targets for his minions to take them down, and down they went. Mr. Treehuger summoned an entire army of giant trees that almost leveled a entire neighbourhood and killed dozens of losers in their leaderless confusion and panic, and those who survived had to die a slower death since he ordered the waterdude to deny them basic drinking water. When they weren't been squashed by a tree or had their throats slashed in their sleep, they were dying out by thirst. He started to come back and he re-conquered much of the turf he had lost to the gangs around St. Canard. As the watersystem didn't no longer provided water due to his minion, the gangs slowly got wiped out and in the end, only F.O.W.L. and some few other organizations remained as actual real threats to him.

But was it something he had learned during his time here was that when things gets good, they then gets bad, and things then got really, really bad. The thing was that it was so unpredictable. No one knew that everything would go to Hell that way. No one, but they did and as he today ran for his dear life he still wised he had just killed the duck responsable for it when he had the chances.


	3. The Entrance of the New Foe

He was in the peak of his life: most of his compatitors were dead, hidden or had ran away from the city, he owned some of the tall and rich buildings, one forth of the banks' wealth were in his pockets, almost everything were his; he almost had conquered the city and he thought he could conquer the whole freaking world; how foolish he was. Of course he wouldn't conquer the world, fate wouldn't let him. Fate and _him_.

One day, the compound of Copaza family, one of the few groups alongside F.O.W.L. that still had the strength to resist him, was blown up to the high sky, and their boss, the capi and several of their soldati were killed during that explosion. No one knew who did it. The rumors clamed it was a duck with a cape and large hat who did it, someone like him...the problem was that it wasn't him who did it.

The Copaza family was a dangerous opponent, if not more dangerous than F.O.W.L. They were cunning, adaptable and able to think out any strategy you can find in the book. When they attacked him, they almost always used flamethrowers in order to counterattack his tree army, and when the water system no longer provided any water, they had a large supply of water in their compound in case of such catastrophe. No one dared to fight them but the foolish, the arrogant and the fearless. So the one who did this to them had to be extremly cunning and totally fearless, something that he was...but as said he didn't do it, even if the rumors claimed it was him or someone who looked like him. Was it his arch-enemy, finally doing some wetworks again? Hell no, he thought. The duck didn't kill his enemies, no less a house with dozens of people inside with one bomb so it couldn't be him. Must be a copycat or something he thought. He would later on in his life find out on how wrong he was.

More of his compitators and other criminals began to die out one by one, and those who survived or witnessed it said it was he who did it; like the destruction of the Madarrazs' hideout, or the brutal beatdown of the serial killer Nasco Alexsodo (the guy had no teeth, or a nose, or a tongue, or even eyes left. All his bones but his neck were broken, the jaw was almost no-existent and now he was on a wheelchair and was forced to eat through a straw...if _he_ hadn't finish the job yet on him thats it), or the bombing of the Barrados' warehouses, or the murder of the Professor Moliart, and many other things. As things got more and more uglier, his anixety started to grew as well. While he did some things, being blaimed of things he didn't do because someone who apparently dressed and looked like him did it instead disturbed him. Of course, had someone else do the heavy work for you was appreciating, but the thoughts of a new player, who apparently was deadly, effcient, ruthless, stealthy and much more cunning than the rest of these worms and who was like him both inside and outside, enter this game were pretty alarming, since he almost had won the city and now he maybe had to deal with some whackjob who was even more nutsier than the clown but also competent. He tried many times theorize if it maybe was an alternative universal counterpart of him, bored as well in his homeworld and wanted to do something excitning, or a robot built up to look like him in order to deceive anyone else from the real thing, or maybe it was just some surprisingly good copycat, or something, he never really got the answers. Until _he_ decided to give him and the city them for him.

It was on his free day. Trying to take over the world, no less a city, was a tiresome job, specially when you fought those kind of people as he did, so he decided to take a day off to rest and gather his strength for his next moves. He watched some television, tried to see something interesting and he clicked through the channels to find something. After some minutes he found one of St. Canard's newschannels and in it they talked about how crimes had became more violent and dangerous and that the turf wars got more brutal and stuff nadanada. Then breaking news appeared on it about some firefight that happened in the police station. Now that was some interesting stuff because at that point, pretty much all of the police officers were corrupt puppets of the organized criminals so why would someone pick a fight with them, no less in this bloody way shown on tv, there bodies of dead cops could been seen?

At first he though it maybe was the anti-crime militia who was behind the siege, but then he ignored those thoughts. While the anti-crime militia had became more stronger due to the all-more higher recruitment from the frustrated people, and more brutal in its attempt to fight criminality it still was weak, only good at guarding their neighbourhoods or picking fights with petty street gangs, and based on the casualties that were showed on tv as well the destruction of the station itself, the firefight was caused by some pro.

Was it F.O.W.L.? No, like everyone else they had contacts with the St. Canard Police Department and they bribed them with big money so that they would look at the other way when they did their stuff. Them attacking the police would be exactly like if they shot themselves in the foot. If they did the attack not only would they lose the support of SCPD but the whole federal machine would be after their heads so that theory was out.

Were it the feds themselves. Maybe, it wasn't the first time when the government itself decided to take stuff by their own hands when things goes (accordering to them anyway) over hand and not the first time they end up fighting with corrupt police officers. However, if they were the ones then it would had been fed cars and men outside firing tear gas and things into the building, so they could arrest them when the gas would get the cops on their knees. No such things outside the building, and the attacker or the attackers had made it clear that they wanted to waste any police officer that stood in their way, and not to arrest them for their corruption, as dead uniformed bodies could be seen outside on the parking lot and the entry of the station, not to mention every minute it was an explosion inside the station's higher levels or some officer was pushed out of one of the windows and hit the ground dead.

Was it one of the street gangs, the lowest of the low? Please, they were too pathetic for such things. They were neither organized enough and didn't had much equipment and resources to take the fight to the cops. Now this guy or guys who attacked the cops clearly was or were organized, cunning, well-equipped, well-prepared and dangerous enough in order to create this kind of bloodbath as showed on tv.

Was it the newcomer, the apparent copycat of him? Maybe, the bloodbath that was showed on the tv wasn't so far behind those made by that crusader, and he had made it clear in his rampages that he had some serious grudge against crime and as bad the cops had become it was probably just a matter of time before they would face his rage and hatred as well. This was the most logical theory since...well the place was so torn up you would think that the Russians had attacked them. All the police cars at the parking lot were just burned out junks, corpses were everywhere, most of them missed limbs, some had died by grenade or rocket explosion and some had been gunned down in the open. An few even showed marks of slashing weapons on them, the ground was painted red by the blood of the cops, just like the River of Blood in that Book, and the police station looked as if it had been transported directly from some warfield. It was an freaking massacre down the station. The others didn't had the resources or the reasons why they should kill every cop that existed in this city so it must be that crazed copycat vigilante that had been a pain in the butt for many of this town's criminals lately.

Then he decided to just watch and see what happens so he continued to watch. After some minutes he forgot about his theories and just enjoyed the slaughter that was played, and _DARN _it was a slaughter.

The event continued for several more hours. The event was played pretty much the same as the event in the city hall, only now it was down at the police station and he wasn't the one playing the big and tough bad guy now. The journalists were, as always, over-dramatic and pretended to be upset and terrified by the event. Of course they were all just acts they pulled to the public. They didn't actually gave a darn about the police officers that laid dead on the ground, or the destroyed, smoking ruins of the place. They were journalists; upper-class arrogant punks in empty suits and ties who thought they were above everyone else, and that they were so smart and knowledgable, and everyone else so dumb and ignorant of the world. The crocodile tears were just their tactics they uses to manipulate their way up to the top of society. Besides, the gunfire never was fired at their direction so already there you could see that their emotions were fake.

People stood outside and watched as well, just like down the city halls. But unlike back than, when than they were terrified by what he did, they looked on with apathy. They had been used to such violent shootouts that they no longer were startled by them. The thing that it was the extremly corrupt police force that was under attack didn't gave them much reason to care either. Still their curiosity caused them to stay and see what happened and who was or were fighting the cops.

Then all of the sudden everything were silenced. All the gunshots, the explosions, the screams, everything just went dead silent. No sound, no nothing, as if things just stopped and everything had never happened in first place. Everyone just stared not knowing why it all stopped. The tention was high, if not higher than during the shootout. Had the police stopped the gunwack, or had the gunwack destroyed the entire police force? Even he could also sence the tention and he admit, he got somewhat anxious but also excited on what would happen next because if it was something he knew about; everytime it gets dead silent it's just the calm before the storm.

Then, BBOOOOOOMMMMM it was, the whole freaking station exploded, and not in those of the small explosions that appeared inside the building every minute but one big, giant ball of fire and smoke. The explosion took everyone with big surprise and some were, as he could see on the tv, pushed back by the force from the explosion. The camera stared on the ground for a moment as people were getting up on their feet. The cameraman picked up the camera and turned it to what was used to be the police station. What they saw next was a big surprise to everyone, even to him.

The attacker walked on the ashes, appearently to watch and admire the masterpiece of his work. To much of everyones' surprise, it was just one duck. Not exactly a big and extremly armored one, but smaller than the average duck, and in his right hand he held on what appearently was his main weapon, a small missile launcher. His clothes were exactly the same as his own, which were evidences enough that it was the murderous copycat, only that they were purple. Seeing them made him think that it was his arch-enemy who was the infamous vigilante but then he remembered he wasn't no killer. He would be surprised on that part.

The duck stopped watching the ashes of the station and turned his head toward the crowd. He looked at them for some couple of seconds until he putted his missile launcher on his belt and walked right to the news people. He was walking in a way that was almost a combination of a prideful, upright way, as if he was proud of the massacre he had commited, and in a feral, wild way. As he walked closer to the news people blood could be seen on his clothes. While he had some wounds (which he seemingly completely ignored, as if they weren't there at all), it was clear that most of the blood wasn't his.

Alongside the blood, gunpowder was painted on him, obiviously from missile launcher he had fired so many time during the siege. In fact he was so covered in both of them that the white color of his feathers was hard to see. Only some open areas confirmed he was a white-feathered duck. The duck, despite his small figure, looked like a feathered demon walking right out the Hellmouth, driven by the urge to slaughter, or as a lion who had eaten an entire pack of gazelles and yet wasn't satified enough but just wanted more. The way he walked, the way he looked, the ways he had _done_, caused fear, sheer legshaking fear, to be given birth in the hearts of the crowd, and even he looked at the duck on the screen with disturbance. But the most frightening of the duck weren't none of those things. The most frightening things were his _eyes_. How they looked, how they looked at _them_ with nothing but burning rage and sheer hatred. An animalistic urge for revenge, for payback, for blood just glared right out of them, penetrated into their souls. It was like looking into the eyes of Vengeance itself. Red they were, lightened up by the burning fires of rage, caused them to look like the eyes of a night-hunting predator waiting for the next unfortunate prey to cross his pass so he could bite its throat off.

But beside the rage that burned inside them, the eyes themselves were cold, glassy, _lifeless_. Nothing was inside those eyes but the rage. They were the eyes of an indiviual who had either suffered one hardship to another hardship, or some major traumatic event that had broken the indiviual, leaving a creature driven only by his instincts. In this case, the instincts to kill.

The duck now stood right in front of the newsreporters. They were trembiling with fears as they stood face to face with him and it took like half a minute before one of them found the guts to make an interview with him, since obivously it was what he wanted and he didn't looked like if he had enough patiance to wait.

"Dii..dddiii...did you just ki... ..killed the wh...whole police force?" the reporter asked, clearly too frightened to think rationally and to speak normaly.

"Yes" the duck answered with a cold voice.

"Aaa...and you also commited all those mmm..murders?" asked the reporter, referring to the resent serial killings of criminals everywhere.

"I wouldn't exactly see them as murders, since those creatures doesn't even counts as "people" in my book but yes, I did killed them too" He answered without hesitation or remorse.

One of the other reporters let her curiosity win over her fears and asked the question that many had been asking to themselves lately;

"Are you Darkwing Duck?"

The duck turned his head toward her and stared at her with his cold eyes. The tension became suddenly all high. Everyone could feel it, not only those right at the place but also those who watched this on the screen. Even he could feel it. And the female reporter seemed to regret asking that question as she became afraid that she might had got him angry. However, as the tension got high, the excitement started to boil up in everyones' blood as they waited for his answer. After some seconds, which felt like a hour, the duck answered with a neutral voice:

"Yes, I am"

Mouths were immidiatly dropped to the ground. All this time and killings and in the end it wasn't some psychotic copycat, but the hero himself, the hero who had no history killing any living being, no less dozens if not hundreds of them. The hero who last time was seen as a curb-stomped half-dead depressive had now returned as a merciless crusader playing by the hard balls, and some moments ago wiped out the entire police department without stopped himself or even feeling bad about it. Needless to say, the surprise of the reveal chocked everyone and turned everything silent. The reporter took some breath and then tried to say her next question but instead closed her mouth, as if she wasn't sure if that question wouldn't upset the now bloodthirsty hero of St. Canard. She seemed to think of her next action through before she asked;

"What do you plan to do now?"

"What I plan to do next is to continue to clean up this city, and I want to make it clear..." He then turned his face directly at the camera, his eyes directly looked at his own, as if he wanted to make his next announce clear directly to him. "...that the time of this terror is ending, and I'm going to personally end it all and clean up whatever dirt that still wants to play tough guy because I'm making it very clear now to any of you "people" that watch this that Mr. Nice Guy has long time ago left the building and now Mr. Lethal Punishment has taken over his place"

He then turned his back and walked away. From the sky, the famous beakformed jetplane came and landed some few meters in front of him. It opened the eyesformed windows of its cockpit and let the duck in. The "eyes" of the thing then closed and the jetplane took off to the sky, leaving the shocked public to stare at its flight.


	4. The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally

As imagened, they weren't empty words. The duck continued to kill the city's criminals one by one, and the criminal underground ran amok, sometimes literally. The deep chock from the reveal turned into sheer panic that couldn't be calmed down. Everyone who had taken advantage of the duck's emotional downfall to beat him up feared now for their lives, so much that some of them even commited suicides in beliefs that atleast they wouldn't feel the extreme pain from the duck's lust for revenge. Of course he wasn't afraid, atleast not in the panic way. Sure he was both shocked and anxious after the reveal of his arch-enemy's new-found murderous wackiness but he didn't let that get in the way. The first thing he did after he watched the police massacre was to made plans in case he would fight him once again. So far, he didn't wanted to made the first move; the duck was too dangerous to face both head-on and ninja-style, and the duck still did a good job cleaned the streets from his compititors, saved him much of the hard liftings. Strange that he didn't tried to take him down first since he both was one of the more powerful factions in the city and the one who humiliated him back down at the city hall no less. Maybe he saved him for the last (and he did, as he can now see while he was being hunted). He came up with what he thought some good plans and started to prepare himself with them for the near future, and he had time to prepare since eversince his arch-enemy's rampages became official, his enemies had pulled their forces from the war against him and turned them toward his arch-enemy. While it helped him to buy some more time, it sure didn't helped them in the long run since some days after the police massacre, his arch-enemy wiped out the Fratelli street gang into nothing and hung their leader literally by his own intestines...and that was just one of the nicer things he did.

The bad thing was that his arch-enemy's rampages caused his minions to panic as well. Since his arch-enemy wasn't just his arch-enemy but their arch-enemy as well, they were sure that when the duck would finally pay his attention toward them, they would suffer the most horrific ways imaginated. Everyday he would hear them ask him on how they would fight the duck if he would attack them. He usually answered that he got plans, and that they didn't needed to worry since they were the most powerful individuals of the city. At first, that usually calmed them down...only to get paniced again the next day after they had watched the news of his arch-enemy's latest clean-up. It wasn't better when new rumors claimed that he had started to use killing machines as his own personal foot soldiers. After some time, their fear gave them courage enough to do something they never had done before, something he thought they never would do;

They started to question him.

After some time; his answers about his secret plans were no longer enough to satifice his minions. They would then start to ask him what kind of plans they were. If he answered as before or didn't answered at all, they would press on with it and only would back down if he threated them. After that, not even threats were enough so he used his chainsaw to make them back down. Then came the day when not even his own beautiful chainsaw was enough. In fact, about the seventh-eight time he pulled it at them, the treeguy asked him with unusual boldness what would he do then if he actually used the chainsaw to put them down, since they were the only allies he had. He couldn't find a countering answer to that. They then even had the galls to threatened to leave him to his own. As enraged he was to hear it, he managed keep a cool face for once and asked them what would they do themselves if they left him, since it was thanks to him that they had became such powerful players in the city, and even if they had superpowers, they weren't worth a jack without a great mind to use them in the best way.

They couldn't counter that so they took back their threats of leaving him. They still asked how they would defeat his arch-enemy if he ever attacked, and he answered them that it was a secret but they wouldn't be disappointed with it. He also didn't told them that this was the point when he started to actually fear his arch-enemy for real, since now the very mention of his name and deeds almost costed him his empire on just one single day.

* * *

Some week after the incident with his minions, he got contacted by that goat going by the name Hammersomething. From what he had heard, the goat used to be the lead henchman of that bull crime boss who ruled St. Canard before his arch-enemy decided to put his beak into this town's businesses. When that bull crime boss died, his goat toady took over his business and had been in charge of it since then. While that group no longer was the dominant force of St. Canard, it still was a powerful player. How they survived the water blockade he didn't know. And now they wanted to make a partnership with him against his arch-enemy. Of course, in other sistuations, he wouldn't make alliances with his enemies but with his arch-enemy cleaning up the city, one block after another, he started to considering it. Not that he was weak, he could take him down as soon he dared to show his beak in front of him ever again but because he had heard that the goat had been there when the duck entered the scene for the first time, and surely he had some importent information he could share to him, information he could use against his arch-enemy, he agreed for the meeting. And he could always kill them off after the alliance had payed off its usefulness for him.

He and the goat decided they would meet each other on the harbor in the middle of the day. The goat first wanted to had the meeting in the inner city but he was able to convince him to think otherwise. The reason why the harbor was because if the goat decided to make any move against him, he would just let the waterdude make some superbig tsunami and drown them all while sparing him. Of course he lied about his reason and told to the goat that the harbor was the last place his arch-enemy would go look for them, since he was used to hunt the big fishes at the central part of the city.

And the reason why the middle of the day was that it was during the nights his arch-enemy was doing his clean-up works. During the day, he usually was nowhere to been seen. When he and his boys got there, they were greeted by the goat and his goons, and both him and he shook hands and plastered fake smiles on their faces, both pretanding that they were on good relationship, both playing the social game of petty norms. A game he hated to play even if he was good at it if he wanted to be, but a neccesary game none the less.

After he surpressed the urge to go to the water and wash his hand for the next couple of hours because it was infected by that filth's stench, he looked at the building the meeting would take place, and it was a warehouse that the meeting would be in. Outside, the goat's goons were dressed as blue-collar workers and pretended to work at the harbor, when they actually were looking out for a familiar but now-insane duck and ready to report to the meeting's participants as soon they would see him. Pretty smart he thought about it. Not as stupid as he first thought about them but let see if it would work in case his arch-enemy would suddenly appear.

Inside there was some stairs, and up the stairs they went up. They came to a corridor, and to the left of the corridor, there was a door. They went through the door and into a small room, there the meeting would take place. Inside the room, there was a small table, meant for just them and their closest men, the lesser size just to make sure no questions were asked from anyone outside of everything. They sat down at the chairs around that small table and began to disscuss the possible alliance between the two groups. The goat claimed that alone, both groups would be vulnerable (yeah maybe he but not him) but if they worked together, then maybe there was a chance to end the threat that was threatening their businesses and surely would soon attack them, and with the combination between his superpowers and his workforce, they surely would be unstoppable.

He had the urge to snort at his face and insult him on how pathetic he must be to come to him and beg for help, and how pitifully he tried to diguise it as an offer of friendship, but he held back with all his willpower. He needed to know what he knew about his arch-enemy, and so instead of going berserk on him, he began to discuss with him about this future alliance between them, told him the words he was sure he wanted to hear. As the discussion went on, the goat's cellphone suddenly rang. He picked it up and putted it to his ear. He listened to the one who rang to him, surely someone of his men disguised as one of the shore workers. The goat looked passively at nothing as he listened but slowly his face showed a look of shock, as if he got bad news from the other line. This got his and his minions next to him curious and they tried their hardest to hear what was said from the other line. As they carefully listened, they could hear that the guy who rang spoke with a stressful and fast voice, as if he rang with a hurry. He spoke so fast that they couldn't get the whole meanings of what he spoke but they could hear things like "Some of the guys...", "...disguised...", "...compromissed.", "he found...", "he knew tha...", and then a loud scream was heard and the line went dead.

The goat's face became paler than usual, and that wasn't any good sigh of what happened on the other line. As the room became dead silent and everyone woundered what just got the goat so scared, gunshots suddenly were heard from the distance. Everyones' heads went up. A firefight just outside? How could that be? They made sure to make this meeting as secret as possible, and then disguise it from the outside world to make sure no one could disturb it. They didn't get much time to think about it since the goat suddenly told everyone in the room that they had to get away. They all left the room, hurryingly after the goat. His men asked him why they were leaving in such quick hurry but he just answered that they had to get away.

As they went, gunshots remained hearable, and what they could hear, it sounded like it became all closer to them. Screams of agony were being heard as well. In normal sistuations, he would had stayed just to listen the screams, the music of life for his ears, but this wasn't a normal sistuation. He and his guys followed that cowardly goat and his goons while hell was breaking loose just outside. His patience was running out due to the sistuation as they walked down the stairs and then he roared to the goat to stop. He stopped, and he immediatly demanded to know what was going on and why the secret meeting wasn't as secret as he had promised it would be. The goat started to talk about they were compromised or something and that they needed to get out if they didn't want to die. He snorted at that. He dying today, yeah right. Wasn't gonna happen today, especially not because this guy surly had a rat that had snitched to someone of their rivals about this meeting. He told his theory right out to the goat's face, much to his discomfort. He started to babbling about that he didn't had no rats within his ranks and that they had been found out by their enemy somehow. They started to arguing with each other about the sistuation; the goat wanted to run like a sheep while he wanted to stay and fight the enemy as well wanna know what was happening outside. It got even so hard that the goat's goons pulled their guns out and pointed them at him, only for his minions to put themselves in front of him and threatened them with their superpowers. As the conflict almost escalated to a fight, the goat told his goons to put down their weapons. After they did it, much to their protests, he finally told him that the one who was attacking them was his arch-enemy and his robotic horde. This got his eyes get bigger in surprise. His arch-enemy here? With his killer robots? Attacking the secret meeting even with the convincing diguises? With his newfound insanity that surpress even his own? Darn.

In normal cases, he would had abandoned the goat to feed for himself. An ally who runs away the very moment someone is attacking is an ally not worth keeping, but he needed to know what the goat knew so he plastered a fake smile on his beak and said that he would help him get away from his nutsy alternative twin. They went to the garage of the warehouse, there the goat's car was kept. As they were about to step inside the car, an explosion appeared near the door to the right side and a huge hole replaced the door, and through it, one of the goat's disguised goons walked in...or linked in, more off. The goon was extremly ruffed; dirt and blood everywhere on him and running, burn wounds were on his arms and his face, his clothes were filthy and had holes, his right leg seemed to had been broken by something forceful, his hair burned right to the head and generally looked like hell. The goon's eyes rolled back and he fell facefirst to the floor, dead. The others, from the goat to his goons to his minions, were shocked to witness this but he just coldly stared at the whole thing, and felt no bit of emotion for it. Why did they care, he thought. It was war, this kind of things was happening all the time. So what if he died as a burning corpse, was he supposed to suddenly cry of something for it? And why did they act like all shocked and things? It wasn't anything different from what they does toward anyone they didn't like.

Behind the burned goon, something else walked in. It wasn't "someone" but "something", a unliving, cold thing that yet appeared to walk and act like a living being...or more like a living being determent to end other living beings. It wore the clothes of a blue-collar worker, but it wasn't a man nor a beast, but something more unnatural. It walked calmly and looked around the room, like a hunter looked for the prey he had shot but had ran away and hid before he could claim its wounded body and end its torment. Its eyes were cold and calculating, _merciless_. No pity or compassion, if no emotions at all. In fact, no life was inside those eyes. Just dark holes, red fires burned at the very bottom. Its face was literally nothing but a mask. As it wore a plastic mask of that of a bison, the small scars from bullets and knifes revealed an art of perfect mechanical engineering, works of someone experienced in advanced technology. Than it became clear: his arch-enemy had planted some spy droids inside the organizations, disguised as henchmen to fool everyone else inside and outside. Spy droids that immidiately could turn into the perfect assassins once given the order; deadly, resourceful and will never refuse its master's orders nor give up until the job is done.

The droid looked around the room. First at the corpse of its prey, still burned fresh. No remorse it registered, or no pride of its work. Just stared at it like a computer screen staring at its user's face. Then its eyes saw them. Lifelessly it stared at them for one or two seconds before it pulled its weapon up, a machine-gun, and aimed. They had just bairly time to duck behind the car before bullets were allover the place. Fortuantely for them, the goat was atleast smart enough to bullet-proof his car with armored plates and bullet-proof windows. Too "bad" that one of the goat's goons wasn't fast enough to duck before his head got one huge-butt hole on it. The others quickly opened the car doors without rising their heads off while his minions and one goon provided covering fire. The mechanical assassin took the bullets and the water rushs without going down. Only when gigantic, superlong plantsnears, summonded by his tree-huging friend, appeared right out the wall and sneared around the robot and threw it away did the shooting stop.

They quickly went inside the car and speed off, without open the garage door first. As they speeded through the harbor, they could see the battle. The goat's goons fought at their hardest against the mechnical hordes of his arch-enemy, who had conquered the major parts of the harbor, but they got gunned down one by one. As they drove, his wet friend asked if he should summond the whole might of the ocean to crush their enemies. He considered the idea but the goat refused to let them do it. Appearently, that would kill the rest of his forces still fighting on.

As they drove, they neared the outskirts of the harbor. It wasn't any form of fighting there, but sighs of it were everywhere. Dead bodies laid on the ground rotting away with each second, and buildings had holes on them, obviously made of the bullets that were sprayed by both sides. Some of the buildings however were blasted to kingdom come, surly by something high-explosive. From what he could see, they seemed as they were blasted from the mid-to-high air and not from the ground. Strange, since so far he hadn't heard any form of information that his arch-enemy had started to use aircrafts for his crusade, and he was sure that the military no way would give some of their own to him.

As they neared the highway, sounds could be heard from above and they sounded like that of a aircraft's engines, only it sounded as if it was too close to the ground than an aircraft sould be. In fact, it sounded like it flew some 30-40 meters above them. Then they saw it; a flying object neared them. It was formed after a duck's face, with the "eyes" formed the cockpit. It looked almost like the aircraft his arch-enemy used but it was different. Instead of being painted red it was painted purple, and instead of two engines it had four engines; two on the wings that are close to the main body, and two on the top of the said body. Sandwished between the top engines was a black box that had something thin but widespreed thing pointed at the front, with a hole on the very end. Maybe it was the aircraft's camera. On top of the camera and engines was a r-shaped thing with something that looked like a antenna on it pointed weirdly at front. The main different thing was the facial form. The red one was formed a face of neutrality, but this craft's face was formed as one of rage, an animal hungry for blood. A predator flying up the sky just waiting for the right moment to claw its prey inside and out, but instead for claws it had missiles under the wings and the belly. And now it flew in front of them, its cockpit-eyes stared at them with furious hatred that dispite it wasn't alive cut through their souls like burned swords cutting through butter.

The belly opened up and through the hole, a missile bigger than the other ones came out. Hysteria quickly flamed up inside the car as he, his minions and the goat shouted to the driver to get them out of there. He didn't had time for it though because the aircraft shot out the missile that fastly neared the car. Letting his survival instincts to take controll, he opened the door and jumped out of the car without thinking, right before the missile hit the car.

He remembered the awful ringings in his ears and how dizzy he felt before his head got cleared. What he saw wasn't pretty; the car was nothing but pile of burned plastic and metal, and awful smelling smoke came out of it. Burned bodies were inside, their dead faces frozen in fear. As he looked around, he saw that atleast his minions survived the attack, though the treehugger had some nasty burnwounds. He also saw the goat, coughing but alive. The aircraft was still there, howered above them. It seemed as if it didn't cared about him or his minions, just on the panicly frozen goat. As it was about to fire another missile at the goat, bullets were attacking it. When they turned around, they saw some of the few surviving goons of the goat. Appearently, they had hid while their comrades were getting gunned down by the mechnical horde and stayed at their hiding places while the horde advanced toward the meeting place, but now that their boss was getting threatened personally by this thing, they suddenly grew some manhood and fought to save their don, but it didn't seemed to work; the bullets just fell off the aircraft without doing any harm and soon it turned its angry structure toward them and started to make quick work of them.

As it turned its attention to the survivors, the goat crawled on all his four to him. As they were next to each other face to face, the goat told him that since time wasn't in their favour, he would tell him now what he knew about his arch-enemy. He immediately got butterflies in his stomach. Now finally he would hear the information about his arch-enemy, information he would surly had use of in this war of St. Canard. He didn't cared about the firefight or the sounds of gunshots or the explosions or the screams of death that surrounded him, all that didn't meant anything to him, he wanted the knowledge of the being that surly was flying the thing above him. Like a child on Christmas he waited for the goat to talk. The goat first asked him if he was familliar with the girl he arch-enemy used to bring with to his missions. He answered spitefully yes. Of course he was familliar with that brat. She always hung around with his arch-enemy along with the dumb pilot like some parasite refusing to let go of its host. An annoying and filthy parasite no less. But what did she had to do with all this? The goat told him that he knew her personally, what her name was and where she lived. Now it got interesting. He was sure that the brat lived with his arch-enemy's civilian identity but he never knew where. If the goat told him where she lived, his arch-enemy should be there too and then he didn't need this so called "alliance", he could storm his home by himself, or atleast sneak inside and then slit his throat while he was sleeping. It had worked very well before, why should his arch-enemy be any different?

The goat told him that after his first encounter with his arch-enemy, back than when he worked under the bull, the girl had changed her last name to something else and that it took him a very long time finding her on the city's records before he finally did. After he did it, he claimed that he spent months spying on her new home and her guardian before he putted two with two together and was sure that her adoptive guardian was his arch-enemy in civilian clothes. Now he got extremly excited of what he told him. Now he just needed to tell him where the place was and the war will end with him as the winner. As the goat was about to say where and who, he suddenly found himself covered in blood and stared at what once was the goat's head. All his excitement was turned into shock. Right as the key information was about to be told to him, it slipped right in front of him.

Speechless.

That what he was: speechless.

It wasn't true, couldn't be true. He couldn't had died right on, couldn't he? Not when he was about to reveal the answer? Then his shock turned into anger. Why? Why?! Why DARN IT?! Couldn't he had died AFTER he told him such importent knowledge, huh?! HUH?!

Then he looked up. That hellish aircraft did it. It had killed off the goons and then killed off the goat in front of him. Surly just to mess with him. It just hovered above him, mocked him for what he just lost. He couldn't see him behind the eyes-formed cockpit-windowns but he was sure his arch-enemy was inside and looked down at him with a smirk, maybe even laughted at him. His anger then turned into such rage that he pulled a rocket launcher out of nowhere and tried to shot that forsaken thing down. However, it just danced away from the rockets, none of them hit it. Soon he found that all his ammo were out. He didn't had any to fight with, his arch-enemy could kill him right there, right now. Nothing to do but hope for some miracle.

But it didn't do anything, just continued hover above him. It was obviously that his arch-enemy was just being busy mocking him, reminded him of his mortality, made sure who was standing superior now and who was on the ground beaten. His minions couldn't help him; the treehugger was too wounded to fight and the waterguy's powers surely were useless against this thing, unless he used all his might but that would kill him as well. It hovered above him for some few seconds before it turned around and flew away.

...what?

He just left him there without take the shot? What the..! Why did he spared him? No less, he was glad that he was still alive and quickly got up and walked back to his base, his minions followed him. As he got inside his base, he found a note taiped on the door. On it, it was written that it was to him. He took it off the door and turned it around. On the back of the note, it was written: "You'll be the last one".

When he read this, he immediately knew what kind of game his arch-enemy played with him: he was the last one on his death list to be crossed. He wanted his final act in this war to be one of satifactional nature, and that meant that he would kill him last, his enemy of his enemies, the climatic last battle between "good" and evil, one that this city would remember in ages. A battle that would make sure to everyone that he would be in total control of the city and no one else. Meanwhile, he prepared himself, trained himself by clean up the city and kill the other scums one by one, become more and more stronger and better, while he toyed with him, played with him, deliberately allowed him to be one step ahead just to make it more challenging. As the sayings goes "Save the best for the last" and "The more you wait for it, the more satifiying it will taste". Now his slight anxiety started to turn into both panic and rage. The knowledge what he was doing to him scared him, and that the only reason why he still lived was because his arch-enemy found it amusing to toy with him when he could just try to waste him anytime he wanted got him enraged. Now he wasn't even sure if his plans were gonna work against this creature. He personally saw that he both was (as much he hated to admit it) surperior in both technology, planning, spying and now, stealth, and his only key to victory slipped right out of his hands was a giant setback. He had to re-organize his entire delimma because it was proven it would not work against him.


	5. The Foe reveal his Face

Open war hit the streets for real. His arch-enemy's mechnical hordes roamed through the streets with a force never seen before, looked for any criminal to kill. Of course, the criminals wouldn't just lie down and die just like that (some of them anyway) so they picked up their weapons and tried to fight back the hordes, but the hordes moved like a tidal wave through the streets and swept them clean of all its dirt. Literally an army of unstoppable killing machines, the army itself a machine of death, pretty much everyone didn't stood much of a chance against it. You may last some few days if you had some heavy stuff but if not than you were pretty much screwed. But the dogs of the underworld didn't cared much of it and fought on for both their territories and their life. They were too scared to care, and they likely knew that fighting was their only alternative anyway, since they didn't expected any mercy if they dumped their guns and surrendered with arms above their heads. His arch-enemy was too zealous and too hateful on crime to care about petty stuff like "mercy" or "forgiveness". He would likely either shoot them one by one to psychologically torture them, or mass execute them in front of a crowd to inspire fear in the hearts of those who still lived. So they fought on, with their fear so great that it almost had consumed them. Fear ruled the city.

And it had started to rule his life as well. After the note, he and his minions moved to a new secret hideout, since his arch-enemy made it clear that his last secret hideout wasn't so secret as he though it was. He had ordered his minions that they would never mention anything about their new hideout to anyone and they had complied but he started to question their loyalty to him. He knew that they didn't liked him personally, but he didn't cared about it before. As so long they shut their beaks up and did what they were told to do than he was happy enough, but with this new time and changes, he started to worry about it.

His arch-enemy had planted spy droids inside the organizations' ranks but he was sure that his arch-enemy probably hired some real flesh-and-blood moles too. Thats how the game is played out: in every organization, there're always those who doesn't give a darn about the organization's agenda, goals or ideologies. Those selfish, greedy and honorless individuals who outside forces could hire to work for them and help them destroy their comrades from the inside while they attacked from the outside. Only a paid mole could had told his arch-enemy about what he needed to know about Copaza's compound before he blew it up. And what if he had hired one of his minions as his mole? Since they didn't liked him much, it would given them reasons to betray him even if money wasn't an interest for them. What if it was the threeguy. He was that kind of a guy who didn't put much passion into this kind of buisness. And he had a history of allying himself with his arch-enemy several times in the past. What if he was allied to him yet again? Told him of his moves and plans? What they planned to do, and what kind of equipment they would take? Maybe he told him where his last hideout was, and how he could get in without leave any signs of forced entry? All this fearful thoughts were going around his head all the time. He couldn't trust them. He had to be careful when he was around them.

As if things couldn't get worse, they did. Now, robots built as aircrafts joined in the war, and his arch-enemy started to use tanks to clean the city, tanks that also were formed after his face. They swept through the streets even harder than his mechanical goons did. His arch-enemy had totally lost whatever what was left of his old him. All gone were the ego and the pathetic need for attention. Gone were all the incompetence and the stupidity. Gone were the wussness and dependence on his stupid friends. Gone were the compassion and mercy. His arch-enemy had become a vengeful killer. What were once the ideals of justice and safety of the people, now only rage, hatred, grudges and cold blood made up in his heart. What changed him was a mystery. First he was the regular himself, then he became all sad and more pathetic, disappeared for a while and then returns, all mean and nasty, more determinate than ever before to clean the city, using methods he never used before. Methods they all thought he didn't had the guts to use. What the hell happened to him? He just went out of character and turned 360, just like that. From one day he was all for fair trials and then the next day he bathed in the blood of the scum of St. Canard. Blood that was on his hands, and he didn't seemed to mind it, less care. He just couldn't get the whole new face turn his arch-enemy got. What he did was something he was supposed to do, not him. He was supposed to be the do-gooder, not the psychopathic weirdo, thats his job.

Every day, his fear for his arch-enemy got stronger and stronger. As quickly he cleaned up the city, how long was it before it was his time to become hunted? How long time did he had to prepare himself? And what if one of his minions was a rat? And as those thoughts raged inside his skull, he started to think this; where were his arch-enemy's buddies the Justice Ducks? Before, they always hanged around with him and helped him stop the plans of his Fearsome Five but now they seemed to had disappeared from the city. Did they also became his victims? Rumors says that his arch-enemy had become so crazy that he chasted them away personally from St. Canard, likely because they disagreed with his new methods to "solve" crime, and so became enraged and forced them away. The rumors said that even that witch of his girlfriend was forced away by him. From what he had heard, those two literal lovebirds got into an argument about his arch-enemy's new ways of cleaning house. Something about that she saw how lonely and aweful his future would be if he didn't stop with what he was doing, only to got physically shoved down the ground and yelled at for "being in the way". Then she supposely left him and now was spending her time outside the city being sad of what her boyfriend had become. If those rumors were true than darn they were harsh. He might had liked the stories if they weren't which people they were about. They just got him even more afraid of his arch-enemy, since he didn't even let his friends get in the way of his predatory hunting. If he would do something like that to the one he loved with his whole heart now than there was no hope for folks like him.

And speaking about love, where did his brat of a daughter go? She always hanged around with his arch-enemy on his missions but now, she also seemed to had disappeared without any trace as well. As he thought deeper into it, her disappearence seemed to had actually happened before his arch-enemy became a depressive shell and then a psycho, as no one had rapported seeing her alongside him and his pilot when he sank into deeper levels of patheticness, not even during his wet minion's bankrobbery. Maybe that was the reason why he had become such a vengeful killer. When she appearently disappeared, she probably took his old enemy with her, leaving an emotionless machine runed and consumed by its goals into zealous levels. The theory of the disappearing daughter and its emotional damage on her adoptive daddy itself sounded pathetic but that didn't help him to kill some of his fear toward his arch-enemy. Without his girlfriend or his brat in the way, he had no weakness that might could stop him, or slow him, or cause him to freeze or hesitate.

He was _so_ gonna get screwed once it was his turn to die.

* * *

Some days after the note-incident, he got another contact from someone. When he looked at the message, he was surprised that it was from F.O.W.L. From what he read, they wanted to discuss an alliance against their enemy. Weird since they had fought with each other for the control of the city, and they had been one of his hardest enemies; they had been behind of the more brutal battles and sieges at the time when he was losing, and he never was able to "sneak" up on their leaders, mostly because he couldn't find out where they were. They had made sure to make their hideout as secret as possible, and if he did knew where they would be hiding in, he probably would had found it more difficult to waste them than the other ones, with their high numbers of eggmen and things. Now they also knew of the dangers his arch-enemy posed so they had decided to put their difficulties aside with him in hope that an united force would put down that crazy bird once for all.

Before, he would reather shove his chainsaw down his own throat than allying with those people but right now he knew that he needed help. Without help, he was soon gonna become roasted turkey for the next Thanksgiving Day, so he sent an answer to them that he likely would discuss such thing. He at first thought if this was somewhat of a trap but then he decided to not care too much of it. While his fear for his arch-enemy had grew more higher lately, his fear for F.O.W.L. still was near non-existent. He had enough self-confidence to believe he could fight out of whatever trap they may come up with, if it was any. And beside, reather dying by their wings than those of his arch-enemy, and he needed help, and they may knew or had figured out on how to defeat his arch-enemy.

But what about his henchmen, he asked himself. Could he tell them about the meeting with F.O.W.L.? If they were rats on his arch-enemy's payroll, it could blow eveything up. His paranoia towards them had became so high that he never told them of his plans and strategies. He usually avoided them too, only seeing them during their next crime, and then he did, he always made sure that he wouldn't say or slip something from his beak that they could snitch about to his arch-enemy. In fact, he barly talked now a days. Before, he would always openly and loudly boast about himself and his skills, stuffs or plans, made sure that everyone paid their attention to him and know how superior he was compared to them. Now, in his growing paranoia, he could be quite for four-five days before he said anything, and that usually was only about things that needed to be said, like orders or demands. But then he decided to take that risk. If he walked into F.O.W.L.'s headquarter alone, it would send a message of vulnerability and then they might try to waste him instead of allying with him. With his goons beside him at the meeting, it would send a message of strenght and unity, so he had to take the risk and take them with him but he would make sure that not to tell them about the meeting so they wouldn't snitch about it the day before, and then he would make sure that they would be at his sight all through the meeting.

The day of the meeting had come. He went to the garage with his minions, to his car, disgused as a regular car of the average joe. They asked where they would go to, and he just answered "somewhere". His cold tone was enough to shut them up. He drove through the streets, drove casually just so that it wouldn't look suspicious to _someone_, and into the woods (much to his green minion's delight and the wet dog's surprise). He drove until they faced a mountain. His minions were surprised at their stop, but he wasn't. He just patiently waited until a small part of the mountain opened up and revealed a tunnel inside of it. He quickly drove in and the mountain closed behind them, and they drove through the tunnel until they came to what that seemed to be a checkpoint.

With eggmen stationed there.

His minions were just about to get out the car and pick a fight with them but he ordered them to stay inside, much to their surprise. One of the eggmen walked to the car and stood right near to his window. He lowered the car window out and faced the eggman. The eggman seemed to immidiately know who he was and what he was there for, so he allowed him though the checkpoint, also much to his minions' surprise. As they drove through, the wet dog asked him why their enemies would allow them inside their camouflaged base without so much as a shooting attempt at them. He said that they would soon see, without putting much details in his answer.

They arrived at a parking garage, there some of F.O.W.L.'s most famous agents waitied for them. It was the rooster with the metal beak, the obsessive cleaning lady, the fat walrus who failed as a movie director, and some short grown duck with some weird hat on his head. They stood some few steps from their car and greated them as soon they got out. They were calm, despite that his minions were so tense by seeing them that they might go berserk any second on them. The rooster walked to him and bid him welcome to F.O.W.L.'s local hideout, and then asked them to follow him. They walked to an elevator stationed some few meters away from where they parked, and they all stepped in. The rooster pushed at a button and up they went. Some seconds later, the doors opened up and revealed an simple and grey hallway. They walked through it, passed through random stationed eggmen, until they got to a door. The rooster opened it and then they all walked through it.

They got into what that looked like a hanger, with three levels of catwalks built on the walls, with them on the first catwalk built above the main floor. Through the catwalks and the main floor, eggmen were stationed and ran around did whatever order they had been given. On the highest catwalk, a window was plastered on the wall and three figures could be seen inside the window looked down on them. It didn't took him too long for him to realize that they were F.O.W.L. High Command.

They had to walk to the highest catwalk through some stairs. Why they didn't built the elevator some more floors up he didn't know. After some few minutes, they got to the highest level and went to the door nearest the window. They stepped in and there F.O.W.L. High Command greeted them with enthusiastic hellos he was sure were just for show and for the buisness. As he looked around the room, he was surprised on how spartan it was: just a round table in the middle of the room with three big chairs with their backs on the wall and some smaller chairs with their backs on the window. No special decorations, no ancient stuff, no big paitings, none of that "cultural" stuff high-ranking supervillains usually have, just a room with a table and some few chairs. For someone who were one of his greatest enemies in the gang war of St. Canard, no less one of the city's most powerful criminal organizations, their main office sure didn't looked like it, but maybe that was the reason why he never could find them; they probably expected that he expected them to live in some high-class, multimillion dollar place with swimming pools, expensive cars and dozens of suit-wearing goons, not in some cheap place with cheap stuff.

Anyway, they went to their designated chairs and sat on them, while the agents went to their leaders and stood next to them with upright backs. He and the command immediately went to talk buisness, talked about what must be done about their common enemy, on how they would kill him off, on how to take back everything he had taken from them, on how the future will look between them once he was gone and how they could share the big prize between their organizations. They discussed with each other for hours until the window behind him started to blink the message "incomming call". The shortest of the high command said to the window to show the message, and quickly the masked face of an eggman revealed itself. So the window wasn't just a window but also a moniter for communication. So they had some high tech in this cheap place afterall.

Despite the helmet the eggman was wearing, the emotion on his face was as clear as the summer sun, and that emotion was...fear. Not just some anxiety, nervosity or any general fear, but sheer terror and panic. It was the fear of something so horrible that even Satan himself would shake his wits off of it.

He recognized that face. The dead police officers at the attack on their station had it, the dead street punks had it, anyone who luckily had ran away with their lives had this face, anyone who had survived had this face. With that, and the gunfire on the background, it didn't took him long before he realized what was going on.

The command didn't had time to ask what was going on back there since as soon the eggman was about to say something, a blackout shut down the moniter and all electricity in the hideout, and total darkness dominated in the room. Everyone in the room started to become confused about the sistuation and they asked where the power went, and as he looked outside the window, he only saw more darkness, and the yellow uniforms of eggmen run around in confusion and fright like scared chicken, not knowing what to do. The one who attacked the hideout made sure to kill off the power in order to kill off the communication and the lighting, so that it would make it easier for _him_ to start his final act in his game of mad crusading. And that meant that he had to get out of there fast.

The command seemed to think the exact thoughts since as soon he though that, one of them said to everyone in the room that they had to retreat before the threat would storm the hanger. No one inside disagreed, they all had the same suspicion on _who_ cut off the power and made siege on the hideout, and they all had learned to fear him.

As they were about to get away, an explosion occurred outside in the hanger and a huge hole was the result, and from the darkness, he could see that from it came tanks.

Freaking tanks!

Their bodies were formed as a duck's angry-looking face, their "eyes" pierced through his soul like hot swords. And behind them came combat androids but different than those back at the harbor. These weren't even humanoid, but just some huge flying duckfaces with arms placed on their "cheeks", arms that could replace their hands with machine guns by pulling the hands inside them and then taking out the guns directly from the inside. On their heads they had small parabolic antenna each that obviously was for communication.

The tanks and the andriods immidiately started to get to work with the eggmen. The eggmen didn't stood a chance; the siege had turned from a siege into a massacre. Yellow spots in the darkness turned into red as they dropped and didn't no longer moved. Those who still were alive tried two different tactics; one was to beg for mercy but the machines weren't programmed to feel that kind of petty things so it obviously didn't helped. Another was to fight back. Some few survivors against dozens of tanks and flying killing machines; it wasn't so hard to figure out the outcome, but dispite that, some of the eggmen actually were able to shoot down a few machines but then the rest would turn on them and make Swiss cheese of them.

As things went on out there, he was told that they must go now. As he woundered on how the heck they could get out with the massacre blocked the way to the garagde, metal beak pressed his wing on the wall, and then suddenly, a secret door revealed itself. How cliché he thought but it would had to do. Metal beak pushed the door to left, leaving an opening, and without much more thoughts or words, they all went through the door into a dark hallway and started to walk through it. As they got some few meters into the hallway, metal beak closed the door and pushed it back, leaving them in total darkness. His green minion asked what to do now and the biggest member of the command answered to just walk. They walked, or more like ran, through the hallway, the sounds of the gunfires pushed them onward, until they got to another door, and through it they got into another hanger in a smaller size. In it, a ciruclar object stood in the middle, obviously used as a flying get-away vehicle. The urge to use this get-away object for his own and leave the rest of the company to the mercy (read: the punishment) of his mentally unstable dork of his arch-enemy entered his mind, but somehow he didn't crave in. He was gonna need those people if he had to fight him in near future, that probably soon will come, so he grudgingly controlled his selfish impulses.

The High Command were the first ones to walk to the object, and by press a button on a controller one of them had the door to it opened for them to enter. But as soon their shapes were inside, he saw a red-yellow kind of light and before he knew it, a shockwave pushed him to the ground with a strong force, almost winded him. As he lifted his head to see what just happened, he saw that the get away vechicle was nothing but a burning ball of metal pieces.

That blasted thing was bomb planted.

And as if it wasn't bad enough that he didn't had any way to get the hell out of this place, a voice started to talk from the smoke...

"I'm the killer whale that clean the ocean of its sharks!"

...and as he recognized it and the egodrama that came from it

"I'm the judge who executes the guilty and the wicked!"

...he felt his heart to strangely beat faster than usually

"I'm the mongoose that tear the poisonous snakes apart!"

...and a strange tingeling feeling crossed through his back

"I'M

...and small water-like drop run from his head as a figure started to emerge from the flames

"DARKWARRIOR DUCK!"

...a figure that was completly different than what it used to look like. The clothes were still purple but that was the only thing that proved that this beast once was the main do-gooder of this pathetic city. Instead of the double-breasted jacket he used to wear, he wore a jumpsuit, along with a belt, black combat boots and leather gloves and a black bulletproof west with sharp, spear-like spikes runing through the shoulders. He did also had his over-sized hat and cape with him, not to mention that he looked much more bulkier than before, as if he had been working out.

And then there were the eyes. They were different now than back at the "siege" of the police station. For first, they had the spark of life again. No longer were they glassy, dark pits without an end but now they had the will, the passion, the determination, the believes and purposes that his old him once had before this storm that had raged on St. Canard started.

The problem was that "old him" were the keywords. He wasn't inside them, the _new him_ was. He had just taken what once belonged to his old self and twisted them into something entiringly different, turned them into some sick perversions. Once the will to protect and serve, it was the will to punish and enslave. Once the passion for justice, now the passion for retribution burned inside. Once the determination to end crime, the determination to end the criminals drove him. The believes of a safer St. Canard, a safer world, justice, goodness, reason and love once made up his heart, now the believes of death, punishment, vengece, brute force, power and rage that twisted his entire person. All that darkness glimmed right out of those two anatomical balls hidden behind the mask, lightened the room up with its power.

And they looked right at him.

"...and I'm here to personally deliver the punishment for the crimes you all have comitted against the city of St. Canard. Prepare to eat missiles, evildoers".

And he pulled out a missile launcher from his belt and was about to aim than suddenly the F.O.W.L. goons and his own tried to jump at him. It didn't neither scared or surprised him, infact he looked disgusted at their charging forms, but he prepared himself for combat and before he knew it, all-out fighting occured inside this small secret hanger. However. It didn't looked like his arch-enemy was losing the fight, since he pushed them all over the place without breaking a sweat, used all from his fists, to burned metal pieces and to his missile launcher, gave the baddies the beating of their surly soon-to-end lives. And he just starred at it. As his arch-enemy was wiping the others out one by one, he felt for the first time in his life something new in his beating heart: panic. Sure he had felt _fear_ before (something he hated to admit) but never _panic_. It frozed him at the spot, all his limes had lost their strenght by sheer terror. His mind was too frighten beyond all limits to think any rational thought. The only thing that played inside his head were the words "_get away_ ". They repeated inside his head over and over again, louder with each say, and they continued to repeat so that he started to whisper them to himself.

Then he just couldn't stay any longer. Acted on sheer survival instincts and the words played inside his head and on his beak, he ran. He ran as fast as he could, leaving the fight behind. He ran through the hallway, through the command center, thorugh the windows and through the killing-machines and the mountain wall, his speed so fast that they didn't had time to acknowledge him and his panic so great that it gave him strenght to smash through the mountain and anything else in the way. _Get away, Get away, Get away, Get away, Get away, Get away_ it repreated. Get away from his place, return to his home universe, blast the wormhole between them and never return. The duck could had this freaking city, he didn't want it no more. He just want to return home with his life kept, enjoy with what he already had and never to meet that...creature ever again. Little did he knew that those wishes of him would never be a reality.


	6. Negaduck's epiphany

After the annihilation of F.O.W.L., it was no doubt that his arch-enemy had won this war of St. Canard. He now ruled it supreme, no one dared to challange him. And he made it clear that he ruled supreme by putting posters of his ugly face on every building of his city, and built a huge statue of him in the city square, meant to portray him as a warrior of justice. And they used to call him a narcissist. Ha! Anyway, he tried to get back to his own universe through the bakery but the problem was that when he arrived at the bakery, it was nothing but a pile of burned wood. His arch-enemy had obviouisly destroyed it to make sure he wouldn't get out of this world with his life. So now he was stuck here in this place, forced to hide in its ruins and darkest corners like a rat, eating from garbage to merely to survive, never able to return to his own St. Canard or go around the main streets and places without fearing for his life. In short terms, it sucked to be him right now, dear Satan it totally sucked to be him!

Of course, since his arch-enemy ruled the city like a king, The Man refused to tolerate it so they sent their _dear_ national guard to deal with him. Needless to say, they got kicked out of the city before they even set their foot on it. His arch-enemy's mechanical hordes were just too strong and too ruthless to be forced out, and any attempt The Man tried to use to kick his arch-enemy out failed. After a month of bloody and costly failures, The Man gave up on him and returned back to the capital city, hoping that his arch-enemy was satified enough with just this city. Appearently, he was. Why he didn't expanded his little kingdom since he had the armada, he didn't know. Maybe he didn't want to push his luck. Whatever the reason, he now was the inofficial King of St. Canard, ruling it with a iron fist and writting new, insane laws in the name of "justice".

He lifted the lid of the dumpster to see if anything still eatable was in there. The smell was beyond disgusting but his hunger forced him to endure it. As he dug more into the waste inside, he found some half-rotten carrots. Finally something he had found to eat. He easily broke off the rotten parts from the fresh parts and then ate up the latter quickly, in order to not get too much of the taste of garbage on his beak. As he munched as fast as he could, he couldn't help but think on how low he had sunk. He was once the Lord of Negaverse, Leader of Fearsome Five, the Supergenius of the Supergeniuses, the Meanest of the Meanest, Toughest of the Toughest and King of St. Canard for one day and he almost had wiped out the Justice Ducks from the face of this planet before they were even created, but now he had been reduced to some pathetic exile second-class starving punk, too chicken to even shoplift due to his arch-enemy's 1984-styled "security" system, 50% of it made of sky-roaming killing machines. It was sad, and he would become so enraged with his lot if he wasn't so afraid of if he would survive enough to reach gramp-age. Well atleast the carrots tasted better than the last thing he ate two days ago.

"Well, well, well, isn't it the mighty leader of the "fearsome" five eating out of the garbages like some animal."

The weird tingeling feeling ran fast through his back as he turned around to see his nightmare looking at him with cold eyes and crossed arms.

"Pathetic doesn't even describe enough how sad it is" he said, his voice filled with both smug superiority and cold ruthlessness.

Before, whose words would immidiately enrage him to no end and make him pull off his chainsaw in order to teach the person saying it some respect, but now he just felt his panic return to him in full force. The fact that he hadn't his sweet tank and airbots around him, less his familiar egospeeches and heavy stagegases with him made things more suspicious, and so made him more frightened for each second.

His arch-enemy however stood there with all the arrogance he had. He was above him and he knew it, so of course he was gonna start some good-old fashioned monologing.

"Surprised to see the new me huh, aren't you? Well, can't blame you. I were little surprised too on what I've become, something I never in my wildest dreams thought would ever happen to me, but oh well you get used to it. Though I see you still need to get used to me. Afterall it ain't everyday that the _do-gooding and merciful hero..._" he spat out the last words as if they gave him a disgusting taste in his beak. "...has to become like his enemies in order to defeat them. Like _you!_" he spat out again, this time with more force. "Because thats what you..._people_ only understand; violence, and you turned this city into the rathole of the nation, and no matter how much I tried to clean it up into a more respectful place, you people just have to ruin it the very next day. Why? Was it because of money, or power, or because you got some sick kicks out of it? Huh, what was it? Well, it doesn't matter, you're all nothing but memories now, a past no one will ever remember with fondness. You ain't nothing now, just a shadow of its former self. Barely even that. Ironic isn't it. Years you and anyone else had tried to conquer this city to claim it as their own but as soon I, the hero of this city, decided to stop playing around, you all fell down like domino tiles in a few weeks, some months if you're lucky, and I became the ruler of this town without even trying, not for power as you wanted but for necessarity. Doesn't that sound weird to you? Or pathetic if you put it in your feets? By the way, where're the other four? Arn't they supposed to be on your side? Oh, thats right, two of them are dead and the other two left you without any trace. By my point, thats make you people even more pathetic; you talk and boast about this whole gangsystem but as soon you get into hot water, you'll scatter away from each other for the wolves to feed on. Now it's only you left. Just one try and my mission'll be done and the city will become something beautiful again. But whats this? No insult, no remark, no sarcastic word, no arrogance, no threat, nothing of what you usually act when I show myself in front of you. Don't teAAAHHHHHHH!" he suddenly screamed. He had got himself far into his monologing that he hadn't notice him picking up a empty beerbottle and throwed it right at his arch-enemy's face. The bottle hit him hard and the force of the impact caused much pain for him. As he held his head with his hands and screamed in pain, he took the very chance to run for his dear life. Better get away before he gets his act together and will send his robots at him.

And so he ran for hours, never looked back or stopped to rest. If he ended up in the front of a deadend, he defilded the laws of physics for a short moment to get through it. He never ran through the main streets, for obvious reasons. As he ran, he thought of everything that had led to this moment, the entire history and as he did, he got this realization: he would never be able to get out of this town. His way home was burned down, the roads out of the town were guarded by borderbots, the airport was more of a fortress than an actual airport, there were no tunnel systems that went beyond the border of the city, and the sewers probably were being surveiled as well in case if he would become that desperate. In other words he can never get out. This thought was what got him to stop and think. He knew that trying to escape was hopeless so they were only two options left; run and hide until he dies...or fight back. He thought through his options. The first one didn't sound exciting but what about the second one? Could he do it, truly do it? Probably not. His arch-enemy was now too strong, too clever and too psycho for him to fight

...but...

...it sounded more intriguing than the other option. He maybe couldn't take him on but it sounded better than just to run like a wuss for the rest of his life. Then he got another realization: wuss. Thats what he had become. A freaking, sad wuss. With this realization, something awoke inside him, something he hadn't felt for a long time: anger. Yes, his fear had now slowly developed into anger. How could he became such a wuss? Because his arch-enemy had got some new clothes, a bigger plane and some templar complex. How could he let himself sunk so low? Sure his arch-enemy had killed the other crooks of this town but he wasn't like them. He was toughter, meaner, smarter, stronger and prettier than all of them put together, and he had forgotten it all, letting some pathetic thing like _fear_ get in his way. It was so unbelievable and embarrassing that he let his arch-enemy actually get the better of him. And speaking of him, what about his arch-enemy? Sure he played a different game now but behind all that newfound stonehearted thoughness he probably still deep down was that same sad wimp he beat up in the front of the whole city. And he was gonna beat him up again, prove to the world who was still the baddest of the bad. Thats it. No more running, no more hiding. It was all out war now punk, and he was gonna teach his arch-enemy that the mean old him had returned to fight one last time. With his angry determination returned to him, he went to the highest tower of St. Canard.


	7. The Final Battle

He was standing on the tower overlooking the city. It looked so much different eversince his arch-enemy took it over. For the first, it looked much cleaner and less dirty than before, which he just wanted to vomit to. His own St. Canard looked so much more beautiful compared to this city. The dirt, the waste, the dust, the smoke from the factories, the slimy water, the dead plantation, oh yeah everything that made his St. Canard so special. Man does he miss home he thought as he breathed wistfully.

For the second, there were so many posters with his arch-enemy's face hanging on the buildings, overlooking the worms that lives in this city with an warning look, daring them to do something that he won't appreciate. Well, that was what he was doing right now, picking a fight with him with his chainsaw ready. Getting up the tower wasn't that difficult. Those freakshows that his arch-enemy had built found him and tried to arrest him, but that was just part of the plan. By openly exposed himself to them, he knew that they would send the message to his arch-enemy of where he was. After when he was sure that the message had been sent, he quickly pulled out his sweet chainsaw and attacked them, turned the obviously surprised mechs into sweet little bits. After that, he took the stairs up to the roof, threated any person that got in the way to make sure that his arch-enemy would know about his whereabout. Now he awaited for the battle to begin, and it looked like it would be of the climatic nature his arch-enemy wanted it to be. When he had won, he was gonna to make sure to reprogram those machines from whereever his arch-enemy had his secret hideout so that they would recognize him as St. Canard's true master. Then he would use those machines to spread his domination through the country, and if the Man's army of pretty boys would try to stop him than he would make them wish that their ancestors were never born to give them birth in the first place. Once the country was his, then he would conquer the continent, both the north and south parts. When he would invade the other continents and conquer their nations one by one until the entire globe would be his. And then the world would truely fear him, respect him as their overlord. They would call him Lord Negaduck the Terrible, or Lord Negaduck the Great, or Lord Negaduck the Allmighty, or Lord Negaduck the Ruler of Worlds, or something like that. And then he would know that all the setsbacks and failures he had suffered on the wings of that wretched duck had all been worth it for the ultimate victory.

Of course he had to find the secret hideout but that he would had to worry about later, and there was a slight chance that his arch-enemy would bring his armada with him to this fight but he doubt it. The incident back at the dumpster proved that he was of the personal kind of stuff and so his arch-enemy want to deal with him personally.

Speaking of his arch-enemy here he came in his sweet little plane. The aircraft hovered above the roff and the "eyes" of it opened and out came the allmighty ugliness himself out, still looking moody and redeyed. While he gave out a smug apperence on the outside, inside he felt the same tingeling feeling through his back but he ignored it. He would not give this punk the satifaction, the same punk that before was nothing but a sad, pathetic wannabe-hero who just had watched to many superhero cartoons, the same punk that once was just his punchingbag he beated up for his own amusement.

After he stept out of it, the aircraft flew away, leaving them to have a staring contast. Those eyes still burned with hate, and they still made him feel weird tinglings running through his back, but he wouldn't let them make him back down. He stared back with determination, told him that he wouldn't run away from some third-rate loser like him. His arch-enemy wasn't impressed though.

"So you stopped running huh?" he asked with a cold voice.

"Looks like I did." He answered back with a confident tone.

"Realized that you can never get out of here hmm?"

"So what. I don't need to. I'll stay here so I can beat your sorry butt back to stoneage. When I'm done with you, you're gonna wish that _you_ got away from this blasted city"

"Hmm still the arrogent criminal who just need some good old fashioned beating. Funny. I thought that you had _changed_" he said, with more spitful mocking tone on the last word.

"And I'm sure that behind that tough guy act, you're still the very same wimp who couldn't even solve a case even if the answers were threwed right at his face".

He got silent after that insult. It had wounded a little of his pride, but he didn't gave in to it. Instead, he smiled and countered:

"Tsst, tsst, tsst, Negy, Negy, Negy. When will you ever learn? Your sad high voice doesn't hide the fact that you're nothing but the last bit of a cancer that right now is forced on a corner, desperately trying to fight the cure that soon will end its pathetic, parasitical life. Today, you'll soon have a date with the Grim Reaper so go ahead, insult me as much as you want. Attack me, hurt me, do whatever because in the end it'll not matter when you no longer matter in this life...as if you ever had mattered in the first place. Just a copycat from an filthy universe not even worthy of the dirt beneath my boots"

Hearing the insult caused his anger to rise. No one insulted him in that way and got away with it. He wanted to hurt him, attack him, tear him into shreds, but not just physically, no. He wanted to hurt him emotionally, make his mind to snap for what he said. Then he thought out something, something he was sure would make his blood boil.

"Where's that brat of your somewhere?" he asked with a smirk.

His arch-enemy's smile was immediately dropped and a grimace of surprise took its place. Clearly he didn't expected that question.

"Seriously, where is she? You always brought her with you before so why isn't she here right now? Surly you wouldn't mind her helping you to throw people like me in jail. Wasn't that your "quality time" with her was spent on? To so call "protect" St. Canard. Or did she got bored with your little hero acting? Did she say "sorry dad but your job isn't so fun to help you with anymore"? Does she finds it more entertaining to play with dolls reather than play the sidekick now? I know that you're but a big, boring cliche of a duck but if your own kid think so than you just know how pathetic you truely are. Or did you scared her away like you scared away the rest of your friends huh?"

After he said that, the surprised look on his arch-enemy's face went away, and a sneer of barely suppressed rage made its way, but he didn't let it stop there.

"Yes I've heard the rumors. You apparently scared away all of them from what I had heard. How come? They weren't tough enough in your eyes now, or were you too much of a psycho for them to handle? Let me guess, it must be the second one, isn't it? I mean _I_ always knew that something was seriously wrong with you the day I for the first time set my eyes upon your ugly face, but now finally _they_ had figured it out that you're nothing but a lost case. Your little zealous crusading is just your sick mind finally deciding it had enough playing the Mr. Niceguy-game and now is doing what it always wanted to do. Face it Dark, you're just as messed up like the rest of us, you were just too pathetic to accept it, believing that you do stuff in the name of good, when in reality you were just acting out in lunacy. Right now, your lunacy has hit its high point and it has allowed you to become even more worse than us. Except me of course but I've to give you credit for making me believe otherwise not long ago. Anyway, your buds must have realized it too. Some friends huh? Left you like some broken toy the moment tough times caused you to snap for whatever reason. They left you, like real "friends" does, right? Even the witch, and I bet that is the real reason your brat doesn't appear anymore; because she left you too with the others."

"Don't talk about Gosalyn" his arch-enemy threated with gritted teeth. Unfortuantely, all it did was to gave him the stench of blood, and like a shark he went in for the kill.

"Why not? She was like a daughter to me too you know, and I sure miss her hehe. All that spunk, the spirit, the heart. You rearly sees kids like her now a days. In fact, now that she's gone, you don't see any at all."

"Shut...up" his arch-enemy said in barly controlled anger.

Ignoring him, he continued "Wait, now I've figured it out. Now I know why you changed so drastically" he said and turned his smirking head toward his arch-enemy, who now looked at him with curiosity.

"It was HER, wasn't it?! She's the reason why you've become so messed up. She's the one huh. Man I can't believe it; all this just because the little daddy got dissed by his little girl. Man, you can write a cheap tearjerking crapstory out of this. Let me guess how it went huh, she disappeared away from you out of your life, most likely by running away, and you stood there on the sidelines like a house cat left by its moving family. You were so taken by shock of her runaway that your little brain just shut down, and through that period you wondered about what just happened, if it was true or just a nightmare you're going through while you sleep like a baby. Did she really leave you to the dust, and so on. Then your little peanut brain finally realized that yes she was gone, and you most likely spent the next weeks wondering why she left you. What did you do to make her do such a thing to her own daddy? Was it your fault? Did you forced her away somehow? Why did she leave, oh whhhhyyyy did she leavvvveeeee?! And as you kept asking yourself those questions, you lost your own spirit. Whats why you started your new career change as some sadsack; because when she left, she took away your very reason why you played the hero in the first place. In this city of ungrateful ants, she was the one who kept you going, the one who gave you the motivation enough to endure all the negativity you receved dispite all your intentions to help this city. The light in this dark world who showed you that there's more of it but just filth and evil. Without her, you wouldn't see any reason to continue to play the hero of a city who just take your kind acts and throw them back at you in ungratefulness. But as she went away, you didn't see any reason to risk losing your limbs for people who disrespected you, specially when you spent all your energy to angst about your girl. But then you got this new reminder who you're; the self-clamed hero of St. Canard and so you got your spirit awoken again, but the damage was already done. Your kid's disappearence took away the only positive thing in your life, and it had hurted both your heart and mind, so you went out wiping out everybody one by one with a ferocity never seen before; not even when that bull ruled this city, but not to protect St. Canard as you claim to do but to block the pain in you heart that she left you with, and to fill the emptiness you feel without her to fill it in. By killing guys like me, you hoped that it would make you forget, to make your heart complete; if you can't do it with your kid's love, lets see if your hatred to guys like me can do it. Face it Dark, as I said before, you're just like us; just another luny taking out his anger on the world by attacking anyone who're before his way. She was just the one who gave you the illusions of moralites, but when she was gone, all that disappeared with her and what was left behind was just angry insanity."

"SHUT UP YOU DISGUSTING, PATHETIC LITTLE WORM! TIME TO MEET DEATH YOU MESSED UP FREAK OF A DUCK!" his arch-enemy roared at him with such force so that he jumped up in surprise, and then he charged at like a enraged bull, and the fight was on.

* * *

This was not the first time they had ever fought. Through the history they had with each other, they had fought so many countless times that it had become local folklore, but in the past, their battles were more of displays of dominance reather than gladiatorian struggles of carnage, meant to show who was the superior counterpart, but now it had become a bloody battle to the death, one fought for survival and the other fought for revenge, with the city as the ultimate spoil for the winner to enjoy. They kicked and fisted each other with great force, pain and rage fueled their bodies to the extreme. Neither were ready to give up and let the other one win. They would fight the whole night, if not eternity, until the strongest of them had won this battle. They fought as hard as they never had fought before, and if they were common men than their bodies would've given in to the pain and the wounds right now, but they were not common men. Their anything but common lifestyle had harden their bodies and spirits above that of the averge man and so they still fought on, refusing to give up. Brushes, bleeding wounds, scraped skin and swealings were married to their bodies, and as they fought more and more, less of ducks they looked and more of beasts they appeared to be. Their bodies were screaming in pain but adrenaline is an effective painkiller and so they ignored it, their minds screamed in hatred to care otherwise.

He started up his chainsaw and charged right at his arch-enemy with his chainsaw above his head, ready to shove it down on him and make him into red pasta but his arch-enemy was too fast and before he could attack, he already was on his back with his arch-enemy on the top, and he started to punch him on the head non-stop. As he took on the punishment, he tried to lift his chainsaw, still in his left hand, in order to hit his arch-enemy's face with it while he had all his attention trying to punch a hole on his own face. Unfortuantely, his arch-enemy saw in the last moment what he tried to do and he took hold on his left arm and pressed it on the roof floor before his chainsaw could slice its way to his arch-enemy's brain. With him on his back, his arm welding his weapon locked, his strong arch-enemy over him and still kept feeding him knuckle sandwiches, it was a desperate sistuation, which means that it needed a desperate method. He waited for the moment when his arch-enemy's fist was up in the air after its hit, and when that moment came, he thrusted all his weight to his upperbody and half-jumped himself up enough so that he could bite his arch-enemy's cheek. His arch-enemy stopped punched him and lifted himself up, with him still biting on his cheek, screamed in pain and anger. His arch-enemy violently shook himself in an attempt to get rid of him, and he found almost his whole body being thrown at all points, colours blurred on his eyes and his head became dizzy. As he held on to his arch-enemy, making sure that he wouldn't lose his grip, he could taste some of the blood running down on his tounge, and it wasn't exactly a good taste too.

Finally his arch-enemy had enough of his piranha game and with all his energy he made an extremely fast and strong shake that caused him to finally lose his grip and he was thrown of, the blood taste still on his tounge. He landed on the roof floor, and what he could feel, it wasn't a really hard hit but it still felt. He looked up and saw his arch-enemy lift his gloved hand to the bloody bitemark and then lifted it to his eyes, stared on the blood that likely was on his hand. His eyes were in shock, but they quickly twisted into anger. Knewing that soon his arch-enemy would attack him again, more angrier than before, he looked everywhere for his chainsaw. He found it to his left, still running, and as he went to it and picked it up, he saw something fast come around the corner of his eye and hit his chainsaw, blasted it into scraps and burned his hands as he was thrown back. Staring at first the melten metal that used to be his baby, he turned around to see his arch-enemy holding his mini-missile launcher. The psycho had blown it apart, denying him any weapon to fight with. His arch-enemy then aimed his missile launcher at him, obviously ready to throw away all that "last battle climax epicness" aside and just finish him right there. He thought fast and before he knew it, he was running right at his arch-enemy in a zick-zack way, just to make it difficult for his arch-enemy to aim right. It seemed to work as no missile he launched hit him and as he was enough near his arch-enemy, he swatted the missile launcher right out of his arch-enemy's hand and down the building. Now no one had any weapon to fight with so now they had to fight by the old school.

He aimed a punch at his arch-enemy's head but he held his arms up to protect himself so that punch was wasted. As soon he had threw it and hit his guard, his arch-enemy quickly threw his sidepunch at his right side of his head. Getting hit by that punch was like getting a brick slamed at him and he felt some dizziness by it. His arch-enemy had defently worked out for the last couple months, and the force of the punch showed it. Then he threw his other punch at him and hit him in the stomach. All his air was forced out of him and it left him totally winded. He didn't had the time to breath before a kick to his face made him fly up to the air and land on the hard roof on the way down. Gosh it hurt. The breating and the hard landing caused his mind to wonder all over the place but he was able to gather his throughts together and then he looked up. He saw his arch-enemy glared at him like an insane chimpanzee, his eyes burned with hate. By looking at him, he had the feeling that his arch-enemy's little temper tantrum had only just begun. And as soon he through that, his arch-enemy charged at him with froth in his beak, ready to beat the very rotten soul out of this pathetic bug of a duck who dared to be his alternative universal counterpart. His reflexes and adrenaline snapped him out of his pain and dizziness as his arch-enemy came closer, and he was quickly on his feet and waited on him to come closer. His arch-enemy was a foot away from as he rised his fist to shatter his face in. However, this was the moment he waited for and as his arch-enemy's fist got closer, he moved his upper part of his body right before it hit him, and almost as quick he counterattacked with swift uppercut right at his arch-enemy's ribs, taking him by surprise. He then threw an familiar punch at his stomach and then another at his face. As his arch-enemy became dazed by his counterattcks, he saw his advantage and took it by charging right at him. He ran at him and then threw his arms around his arch-enemy's midsection and pulled his weight foward; causing them both of fall down; his arch-enemy on his back and himself on top of him. He didn't hesitate; quickly he started to punch his arch-enemy's face multiple times without ending nor even slowing down. He was gonna take out this freak once and for all and he would be damned before he screw up this time. He punched and punched, and he even headbutted him once without caring if that act hurted his head as well. He beat him just the same way he beat him at the city hall; no mercy, no hesitation.

Unfortuantely, the duck he made mess of was no more the same duck at the city hall. He wasn't gonna lie there and just take it from this parody of a duck so after he hit him so many times that he thought that he would soon literally crack the skull in he felt a fist taking hold of his cape and then threwed him of his arch-enemy by the left. As the landed on his back on the roof, he didn't even had the time to blink before he felt a great force slaming right at his stomach, which not just winded him but caused all his nerves to scream in pain. The pain was unimaginable, it hurted so much. Even more when he got slamed by that two ton piece of rock on the head. He almost felt the tears coming through his eyes; so great was the painfull force. As he looked up, his arch-enemy now stood above him with an furious look. He had threwed him of him and then punched him right at his stomach, with an fist that felt like it was made by metal reather of flesh and bones.

"Just like the rest of your kind; weak and pathetic" he said to him with a disgusted look. Before he had time to gather breath so that he could insult him back, his arch-enemy picked him up by his cape and then threw him away. After he rolled some couple of feet on the roof, he felt an fist taking a strong hold of his head and then slamed it hard on the concrete roof. And then again, and again, and again. He didn't stood a chance against his arch-enemy's strength and rage and he didn't got any opportunity to fight back before he nearly saw the stars. As soon he thought that he was done for it; the head-slaming suddenly stopped and his brused body was lifted from the ground and was again thrown away.

"It won't be any Lady Luck saving your behind this time" his arch-enemy said as he rolled again on the roof. As he slowly lifted himself from the ground, he could hear his arch-enemy's loud steps coming closer to him. As bruised and messed up as he was due to the fight, he figured out that his plans didn't worked out as he though they would. Curse that duck, if he didn't blew his chainsaw right out of his hands with that darned missile launcher, than maybe he would had won right now. Well, he can save that self-pity thing later, right now it was time for Plan B.

"Why don't you look me in the eyes and say that, you phoney" he challanged him; making sure that his smirk didn't reach its full size.

"As you wish" his arch-enemy answered, ignoring the insult that he had heard so many times before from this loser that sat on his scraped kneels.

He could feel that strong hand grip its hold around his neck as he was lifted from the ground. The same hand then turned him around so that he saw his arch-enemy's eyes, completly ignorent of what he was planning now.

"My face will be the last thing your pathetic eyes'll ever see"

"I know, and I've to comment that your face is the most ugliest thing I've EVER SEEN!" and before his arch-enemy had time to react, he used all his strength he had left to move his body so that all his weight went to his right leg, and before his arch-enemy knew it, he felt massive pain just exploding between his own legs. Taking by surprise by his daring move, his arch-enemy released him by reflex and sunk to the roof in pain. This was the moment he waited for. As his arch-enemy sat on the floor, in so much pain that he didn't even moan, rocking himself back and forward in attempts to dull the pain, he ran to the edge of the roof and jumped.

By expanding his cape to its full size by lifting up his arms to the level of his sholders, he glided down to the next building and landed on the roof. As soon he did that, he didn't waste any time but immediately went to the nearest rooftop unit and pulled out something hidden inside it, something small that fitted right inside his hand: it was a small detonator, a lean device with a button on the top. As he had scared anyone inside the other building away in preparation for his little last stand, he had taken the time plant the entire empty building with bombs from the ground floor to the top, just in case his arch-enemy would be too tough for him. Then he had hid the detonator on the next building so that it wouldn't be destroyed by that intense battle he was sure it would be. Now it was time to use it so without thinking any thought about what would likely happen to his arch-enemy he pushed the button.

The entire building immediately turned into a raging, screaming fireball. The windows exploded into tiny bits as giant balls of fire tored their ways out of them, the concrete melted by the sheer heat those said balls gave out, bits of metal were shot out like grenade right of the building, the entire ground shook by the great force the explosion made and it made the night sky light up like if an a-bomb just exploded, and since it was the tallest building in St. Canard that went gone, folks from the whole city could see the explostion and they did, wondering of what was just happening and why an likely bomb-explostion of this great size happened in the most surveillanced city in rule of the most ruthless crime-fighter ever to exist.

The ground shook so great by the explosion that the buildings near it shook like dominoes ready to fall over by someone's foot-slamming on the floor. It shook so bad that he thought that the building he stood on would give in to the force and crumble as well. Fortunately, it didn't. It, and the other buildings, remained standing, with the exception of the one his arch-enemy went down with.

And then it hit him.

...he did it...

...he finally did it...

...he had done the impossible, he had reached the one goal no one else could reach:

He had killed Darkwing Duck, the hero of St Canard.

He had blown him away and buried him inside an entire building as his tomb. He had done it, done it, he finally did it.

The realization of what he had done was overwhelming. Before any rational thought could make its way, he started to dance a victory dance and shout victory cries everywhere. He danced and danced with such energy that it seemed like all his wounds and pains had just slipped away, as if he never got them in the first place. He was so happy...no more than that; he was SUPERHAPPY! All his ambitions he had since he arrived to his backward world had been reached. He had done it. All the fights and battles and he finally had won the game. St Canard was finally his, and all his opponents were gone; either by being dead or had ran away with thier tails between their legs. Yes he finally won. He had fought a war with unlimited numbers of players fighting for power of this one city, and he was the one last standing, ready to claim his reward. Yes, he was invincible and the baddest of the baddest, and no one could stop him now to claim the rest of this world as his, to finally become its overlord, and when that day happens, everyone on this world would learn to serve him as his downtrodden subjects.

As he glowed in his appearent victory and celebrated with his whole body and soul, dreaming himself away into a world of power and glory, he missed the grabbling hook that made its way over the edge and took its hold on the roof, and then the burned hand that appeared after it, and then the other hand after the first one, and then the being that pulled himself over the edge and stood up-right on the roof, fixing it glowing eyes right at the dancing buffoon. His eyes were burning with the fires of Hell itself, lighting them up with such ferocity that they might had been shooting fireballs. His whole muscular body shook with both pain and rage. He could feel the pain everywhere on his body, screaming in alarm that he should retreat and treat his wounds but he refused to listen, his rage overwhelmed his mind in such strong force that he didn't cared if his body was hurt, that he was bleeding, that some of his bones were broken, that his hands were burned beyond all recogniztion when shelding his face from the fire; all he cared about right now was the death of this arrogant clown who thought he had won, and the only thing that could stop him was Death itself, and even that had failed despite all its power. He slowly walked his way to his deluded enemy to finish him once and for all.

As he danced and dreamed of power, he could hear a faint sound behind his back, but he was so drunk of his victory that he ignored it. When he heard another sound, and then another, and then another. Curiously, he stopped dancing around and tried to listen what sounds they were. From what he could hear, it sounded like someone was walking toward him in a slow speed. Wondering how someone could be on this roof with him at his moment of victory, he turned around to see who dared to ruin his moment. As he saw who it was, his eyes immediately became round with shock and his body froze with fear. He just couldn't believe it, it was impossible, no way he could survive that. The bombblast was strong enough to blow half of Middle East into the sky and yet he was there; pretty hurt yes but still alive. It was no freaking way, no FREAKING WAY! HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD! HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE NOTHING BUT A BURNED CORPSE RIGHT NOW, AND HE THE SUPREME RULER OF ST. CANARD, AND YET HE WAS RIGHT THERE, SNEERING LIKE AN ENRAGED ANIMAL! NO FREAKING WAY, NO FREAKING WAY. HE WAS NOT A DUCK, HE WAS A FREAK, A DEMON SPITTED RIGHT OUT OF HELL IN ORDER TO SCREW HIS DREAMS UP! WHY THAT LITTLE FREAK! A FREAK, THAT WHAT HE WAS, NOTHING MORE, A FREAK, A FREAK, FREAK!

"YOU FREAK, HOW COULD SURVIVE THAT?! NO FREAKING WAY YOU COULD SURVIVE THAT, NO WAY, NO FREAKING WAY! YOU'RE A FREAK, A FREAK! THAT IS WHAT YOU'RE, WHAT YOU ALWAYS HAVE BEEN BUT NO WAY YOU COULD'VE SURVIVED THAT! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST DIE YOU SUPERFREAK?! IS THAT A MUCH OF A DIFFICULT THING TO DO! JUST A SIMPLE THING TO DO AND YOU'RE TOO STUPID TO EVEN TO DO THAT! CURSE YOU, CURSE YOU! I'M SUPPOSED TO BE THIS DARNED CITY'S RULER RIGHT NOW SO WHY CAN'T YOU JUST DIE LIKE A NORMAL DUCK FOR ONCE HUH?!"

He screamed with all the rage he tried to find but in reality, the rage was just the front. Deep in his beating heart it was nothing but sheer _terror_. He had tried everything he could to kill him, and yet he was still alive. He had tried to cut him into pieces, and yet he was as whole as he could be. He tried to beat him to death, and yet he was alive. He even tried to blast an entire building with him on it, and yet he was alive, not even dying or anything. If that couldn't do him in, then what could? All what all that stuff did was making him more angry. He felt all his hope for victory running away. He had no more plans, no more weapons, no allies to help him out, no nothing, just some bleeding wounds and hurting pain, and no chance of escape. Even he tried to jump down the building he stood on he wouldn't be able to escape this city. He was screwed and there was nothing he could do about it.

Nothing but scream at his nemesis in denying rage.

He hated to admit it but he had to face it; he had lost the war. His arch-enemy was the victor.

His arch-enemy was right in front of him as he continued to scream insults but it didn't last. During his nervous breakdown, his arch-enemy moved his arm foward and took a hold around his neck. His screaming ended as soon those powerful fingers twisted their ways around his neck and slowly started to strangle him. He felt that he couldn't breath, that no air could make its way into his lungs. The panic he felt raised all alarms in his body, and he tried to do anything to get free. He tried to punch, kick and twist his way out of his arch-enemy's hold but it was futile. The battle had made him excusted and weak, and he didn't had the strenght enough to free himself. He could see the darkness coming closer and closer as his arch-enemy strangled him with more strenght. He tried to push the darkness away, to deny Grim Reaper his claim but it was wasted effort. After one last attempt for his life, darkness finally claimed him.

And Negaduck was no more.

* * *

The corrupted duck tried everything he could to free himself from his hold, but he could see that death would soon take him to the pits of Hell so he strangled him harder. After one last swing of his arms, the duck finally went limb. He checked him to be sure if he was truelly dead or if he just faking it, but when he felt no heartbeat or didn't get any pain reaction, he was sure that his last nemesis, the last thing that stood between justice and injustice, was truelly dead.

Looking at it with careless eyes, he let go of his hold on the neck, and the body was dropped like a sack of potatoes. As he looked at it, he reflected to those words he said about _her_, and he, despite how much he loathed it, had to agree that what he said was true. The truth had awaken such rage in him he never felt before, and the fact it was him who had shown it to him just dubbled it into raw hate. But he had right; he was just as insane as him and the rest of the bunch, he just let his insanity go in another road, and only with the help of _her_ was he able to deny it with the claims of justice and mora...no.

No, no, no.

He was wrong. He wasn't insane like him or the rest. He was different, he was better then that. He was just trying to psyche him out, tried to break him with words but he had failed hard. He was the warrior of justice, fighting for a safe St. Canard there the people could live without fear for crazed supercriminals, a St. Canard there parents could raise their children in peace without fear that they might lose them for the greed of psychotic punks. His nemesis was just a murderous psychopath causing chaos for the sake of it, so they're completly different people and whatever taunting he might hear will not change that. He was just trying to mess with his mind, but that was all over now. He had won, and St. Canard was finally the safe heaven he had fought hard for it to be, without any criminal to ruin it. Yes, his goals had been reached, his mission finally complete, but he still needed to watch it over. Who knew what dangers might attack his city again, and when they would come? He would still watch over it to make sure that peace and justice would remain supreme, and he would teach any potentional future law breakers what would happen to them if they even try to break the law. With a smirk on his beak, and with a happy feeling in his heart that he hadn't felt in a long time, he walked to the roof's edge, leaving the body behind, and summoned his aircraft to pick him up so that he can tend to his wounds.

Yes, justice had finally prevailed.


End file.
